0 comments/ 18572 views/ 5 favorites Misty Ch. 1 By: Critus She sat at her desk in the library, bored beyond belief. She had taken the job initially as a temporary arrangement after her previous relationship had broken up. With her two children she could no longer work the night shifts that she had been while she was involved, and she needed a day job so that she could work while they girls were in school. It was only supposed to last until she got something better, but the days turned into weeks and suddenly it was several years later and she didn't seem to be going anywhere. The job paid well, but spending her days finding books for retirees and preschoolers was not how the attractive 25 year old had envisioned she would spend her life. She sighed, and turned the page of the book she was reading. It was a copy of Hunter S. Thompsons "Hell's Angels", a book that had been written in the sixties during the height of the motorcycle gang craze. Part of her longed to be in that lifestyle. To be a biker "mama," without responsibilities or care. Just driving around the country on the back of a thick, vibrating machine with her arms around a dirty man who wouldn't expect her to be all prim and proper. Who would, in fact, be angry with her if she did so. Someone who would ravage her at night, even if she wasn't in the mood. A man who knew what he wanted, and didn't take any crap from anyone. Certainly someone more exciting than the creepy old men who did everything they could to look up her dresses as she filed the books away. "Interesting book, a little dated though" a deep voice said from behind her, startling her and making her jump slightly in her chair. The pencil that was holding her long black hair in place fell out, causing it to cascade wildly down around her face. She turned angrily, but her sharp retort was stopped dead in it's tracks by the intimidating figure that was behind her. A man stood there, who looked to be slightly over six feet tall. He was big, obviously overweight, but he looked strong. Thick. His hair was cut very short to his skull, and it was pretty clear that he was balding. He had a full moustache and beard, also cut short, drawing out the lines of his face and giving it a very angular look. Without the beard, it would almost be a babyish face. Very smooth, very pale. He was wearing a black T-shirt, some sort of concert shirt from a band she had never heard of. Jello Biafra? There was an image of toilet on the front with a fist coming out, and the words "I Blow Minds For a Living" underneath it. His jeans were tight, nothing special, but as she looked she couldn't help but notice the bulge between his legs that was fairly close to her face as she sat there. What distracted her the most was that she could swear that she saw the slight outline of his penis there, as if he were semi-erect. He was wearing combat boots, that looked old and worn out, and he was carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder. What she noticed the most, though, was his eyes. They were dark blue, and piercing. Very clear, even behind the glasses that he wore. He was looking at her intently, and she couldn't tell if the look in his eyes was one of curiosity or amusement. Or both. "Excuse me?" she said, clearing her throat. "That book. Hell's Angels," he replied. "It's a great book. I really like Thompson's stuff. But it's a little dated. I mean, the worst those guys did was drive around the country and beat people up. We've got gangs today that regularly mow down entire families with fully automatic weapons. Kind of makes the whole biker gang thing seem a little quaint, don't you think?" "Yes, well. That's very valid, but.." she began, but suddenly trailed off as she realized that his blue eyes were no longer on her face, but had trailed down to her chest. She had been playing with the buttons on her shirt while she was reading, and as she looked down she could see that the top one had come undone, exposing the top of her breasts for this interloper to look down on. The bra she was wearing today was a half cut, covering only the bottom half of her breast. The black lace barely came up over her nipples, which were unfortunately quite stiff at the moment, and the soft flesh of her cleavage was clearly exposed to him. She gasped, and her hand rushed to fix the button as she stood up. Her voice was icy as she glared at him and said "Is there something I can help you with, sir?" His mouth opened slightly, a mischievous grin on his face, and he seemed to be about to make a comment when he smiled, shook his head and laughed almost to himself. "No, thanks. Sorry to bother you." The man sauntered off and threw his backpack down on a table not far from where she had been sitting. He reached into his backpack and pulled out what appeared to be a well worn paperback book. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his booted feet down on the chair across from him with a thud and began to read. Curious, she squinted at the book he was reading in order to read the title. "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty" by Anne Rice. She blushed, hard, and looked away. She was familiar with the book, having read it on a dare when she was in high school. Every page, it seemed, was filled with bizarre sexual situations, each more shocking than the next. Why it was even called Sleeping Beauty seemed beyond her, as the importance of the story seemed to pale in comparison with the sex inside. She cleared her throat, picked up her book, and tried to begin reading again. For some reason, she couldn't concentrate on the words, and her mind kept drifting off. She was wondering what the man was thinking. Why he was reading that particular book. Was he reading it on a dare like she had been, or was it something he had read before? She risked an occasional glance at him, and found it interesting that the more he read, the more uncomfortable he seemed to become in his seat. He was shifting around, sometimes reaching down and adjusting the crotch area of his jeans. A fine layer of sweat began to form on his bald forehead. He was getting excited as he read the book, a thought which she found amusing and, much to her surprise, intriguing. Reading being out of the question now, she got up and crossed to the cart of books that needed to be put back on the shelves. As she began to walk the cart around the aisles, putting the books back in their respective places, she would occasionally glance over at the man as he read. Once or twice, she thought she saw him looking back at her, but she couldn't be sure. Then, at one point when she was up on a ladder, she glanced behind and knew for sure. His eyes were locked on her semi-exposed leg on the ladder, the garter showing through the slit in the side of her dress. She cleared her throat, in order to let him know that she saw him and did not appreciate his glance, but he did not look away. In fact, he closed his book, eased back in his chair and left his eyes exactly where they were. She flushed, and for a moment stood there unsure of what to do. As always, she felt slightly violated when someone took the liberty of ogling her while she was on a ladder, but something about this man was different. His lust was more open and honest. He was sneaking a dirty peek, but sitting there with a smug look of satisfaction on his face, fully enjoying the view. She decided that, for the moment, she would just ignore him and that maybe he would stop looking. After a few more minutes, she looked back and was surprised to find herself happy that he hadn't. Pretending that she didn't notice she bent over a little farther than normal on the ladder, causing her skirt to lift up even higher. She knew that from where he was sitting, he could now see her inner right thigh and her garter on her right leg clearly. She knew she had nice legs, and it had been so long since she had anyone gaze at them that didn't have one foot in the grave, it felt nice to be showing them off. She lingered that way for a while, sometimes swaying slightly, enjoying the little show that she was giving to this odd man in her section. She looked back over her shoulder to see if she could see how he was enjoying the show, and much to her dismay he was gone. The chair he was sitting in was empty, his backpack gone. As if he hadn't been there in the first place. To say she was disappointed was an understatement. She was embarrassed. Here she had thought this man would have been at least interested in watching her expose herself, but instead he had bolted. She huffed slightly, and quickly scooted down the ladder, having had the stupidity of men proven to herself once again. For the second time in the day, she was scared out of her wits again, when that same gruff voice said from behind her "The view was much better from back here." This time she audibly squealed as she spun around, the books in her hands falling to the ground as she did so. There he was, in the dark corner of the poorly lit aisle, leaning against the stack of books to his left with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He had that same smirk on his face, a mixture of confidence and lust that she found ingratiating. She wondered how such a big man could move so quietly, but as he unfolded himself from the book case and walked towards her she knew. He had a quiet grace to him, and his motions were very fluid, almost rhythmic. She had to stifle a laugh as she got the image of this huge man taking ballet lessons, but for some reason she thought that image might not be too far from reality. He seemed to know his body well, and he moved confidently in it. "I don't appreciate you staring at me like that, sir" she snarled at him, backing away as he approached. She didn't have far that she could go, though. She felt the cold metal of the ladder press up against her ass, and she realized that she was practically backed into a corner. At this point she could get away from him, but she would have to whip around the ladder to do so, and for some reason she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had scared her like that. She knew that part of his amusement was coming from the fact that he scared her, and she wasn't going to feed into that any more. "Are you sure about that?" he leered, stopping just inches away from her face. She could smell him now, his breath hinting slightly of coffee as he leered there in front of her and the faint musk of sweat from his skin. She couldn't stop looking in those eyes. The seemed to bore into her. Took away all the mystery of what this man was about. He wanted her. She knew that as sure as she knew her own name. His eyes had undressed her already, and as they danced over her skin she knew that he wanted to use her to live out the images from the book he had been reading. She had to get away from him, right now! This was becoming too much to take. She turned, released the brake on the ladder, and started to push it when she felt his strong left arm encircle her waist and pull her back. She cried out softly, feeling the thickness of his cock press against her ass through his jeans. Terrified, not knowing what to do, she stood there rigid as he nudged his nose in close to her ear, breathing deeply as he smelled her hair. Her ear tickled as he whispered into her ear and his facial hair rubbed against her lobes. "What is your name?" "Why should I tell you that?" she trembled, her voice quavering as she attempted to find the strength and resolve that was fleeing from her rapidly. "It's not like it matters" he said, and with that his right hand snaked in front of her and began to pull up the front of her skirt. Her eyes darted around the library, looking for help and finding none. It was empty in her section. She knew she could cry out, but she wasn't sure if there was anyone who would hear. What's more, she wasn't sure that she would want them to. She closed her eyes, the fear and lust too much for her to handle, accepting her fate when she realized that something odd was happening. She wasn't sure what it was, but she could tell. He was hesitating. This bold man, this stranger who had entered her space and violated her, seemed to be waiting. He wasn't going to just rape her, she realized. He was going to make her prove that she wanted it. She started to pull away, started to take the escape that she thought she wanted, when she felt a trickle of moisture run down her legs. With a start she realized that she was soaked, her cotton panties clinging to her cunt as if she had just come out of the ocean. She didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to take her. Right then. She pushed her ass backwards, and started grinding it against his rigid cock through his jeans. That was all the incentive he needed. In a blur, his hand was up between her legs, his fingers greedily pushing past the damp panties and finding her lips. As he bit down on her neck, he traced the labia up until he found her clitoris, swollen and hot. He began to frantically rub against it, his left hand scooting under her blouse and cupping her right breast through her bra. Before she knew it she was coming, hard. Her legs quivering and almost giving out as she leaned back against him. Without even pausing, he pushed her forward so that her hands were resting on the steps of the ladder. It started to roll forward, but he pushed the brake down with his booted foot and it stayed still. He lifted her skirt fully, exposing her ass to the air. She was looking around again, desperately afraid that someone would discover them, but he didn't seem to care. He pulled her panties down, just past her ass, and she was satisfied to hear him groan in pleasure as he saw it before him. His fingers cupped her from behind, and she could feel them enter her, probing her softly, exploring her. He was taking his time now, taking a moment to appreciate what she had to offer, and she was loving it. She arched her back, and tried to spread her legs a little further and give him a better glance. His fingers came out of her, and she could hear him sucking on them, tasting her juices. She wanted him, now, and she whispered back to him with a thick voice "Do it." She was surprised at how quickly it started. Right after she said that, she could hear his zipper being pulled down, and then the flesh of his penis was pressed up against her ass. It was so hot. So hard. She couldn't remember even having had one touch her that felt so good, so right. He didn't even bother to unbuckle his pants as he found the her cunt once again and slid the full length of his shaft up inside of her. She moaned, feeling it go all the way inside, feeling the cold, rough zipper press against her flesh as he buried himself in to the hilt. He grabbed her hips and began pumping vigorously, grunting as he slammed into her again and again. She could feel herself building to orgasm again, their position allowing him to reach deep inside of her, slamming so deep inside that it almost hurt. She bit her lip and pressed her forehead against the stair, mewing as she fought to keep from screaming in intense pleasure. As she got nearer to orgasm, she could feel him building to it as well. Feel him pumping faster, feel his breath getting thicker. His fingernails were practically buried in her flesh as he rammed her again and again. She couldn't hold it back any longer! She began to shake, and a long deep moan escaped from her lips as she came yet again. That seemed to push him over the edge. As her orgasm carried on, his began. He drove him self deep inside of her, the deepest he had gone yet, all of his weight pressing down on her and threatening to topple them both. He shook, and she could feel his hot cum erupting inside of her, filling her up. He came so long and so hard she could almost instantly feel it seeping out of her. He stood there for a minute, breathing hard, before easing himself back out. She sank to her knees, exhausted. She heard his zipper go up, and then she could tell he was picking up his backpack. She wanted to stop him, wanted to find out who she was, but she couldn't catch her breath to speak. As he walked away, she sank all the way to the floor, leaning back against the bookshelf and feeling his cum trickle down her legs. "Misty," she croaked through dry lips, "my name is Misty." But he was already gone. To Be Continued... Misty Ch. 2 For the first few days, she thought he might come back. She took a little longer to get ready for work every day, putting on a little extra makeup and wearing sexier clothes. After several days of not seeing him again, she started to wonder if he was coming. After a week, she was convinced of it. The she got scared. She realized she had been intimate with a complete stranger, and she hadn't used birth control. She went to see her gynecologist, and after a full examination was relieved to find that she was both disease and child free. She lingered for a few days being deeply hurt. Why hadn't he come back? She thought she he had seen something special in her, but not she was beginning to think that he saw her as just an easy piece of ass. Yet another man had waltzed through her life, given her a whiff of something better, and then drifted off before bringing it to fruition. Finally, she got angry. Angry at him for thinking he had the right to treat her this way. Angry at herself for caring. Angry most of all for wanting more. For not being able to keep him out of her mind. For not being able to get to sleep at night until she brought herself to orgasm remembering how he felt inside of her, or imagining how much more it could have been. She didn't want to wonder what it felt like to have his tongue between her legs. She didn't want to wonder what his cock tasted like, or what kind of noises he would make as he came in her mouth. She didn't want to wonder these things but she did, and she hated herself for it. So she decided that she was going to do something about it. She began to try and piece together what she knew about him. He was, of course, a reader. "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty," regardless of why he was reading, was certainly not common literary fare or something we would have been assigned to read in a class. She guessed that he was probably a student, because of the backpack that he carried. It had looked heavy, as if full of texts. She didn't figure him for a biker, though. He was probably more likely to be a Generation X holdover. A thirty-something refusing to let go of his "wild youth." She decided to begin her search in the local clubs. Tampa wasn't a small town by any means, but the underground scene really wasn't all that expansive, and she figured if he was a club hopper he might be able to find him in that manner. She tried to look up the band that had been on the T-Shirt he was wearing. Jello Biafra. At first she thought she was barking up the wrong tree, because all she was finding was links to a political activist and "spoken word" artist. That would make things more difficult. There were lots of bookstores and coffee shops in the area that had spoken word engagements. After digging a little farther, she discovered that Jello Biafra was the former lead singer for a band called the Dead Kennedys, an old punk rock band from the early eighties. There weren't that many clubs that played that kind of music in Tampa, so she knew she was getting closer. A few more searches later, she decided that the best place to start would be a "gothic" club called The Castle in Ybor City. Saturday nights were crowded in Ybor. It had been a long time since she had been down here, and it seemed like so much had changed over the years. It didn't feel dangerous, or edgy anymore. It felt touristy, and crowded. 7th Avenue was packed with drunken partygoers, most of them clean cut and young. They looked like they had money. The last time she came here, it was different. It felt special, not commercial. Back then she would have felt comfortable in her jeans and t-shirt, but in the Ybor city of today she felt out of place. Underdressed. That feeling didn't change as she approached The Castle. The world suddenly changed from a streamlined, shiny money machine to a dark and gritty gothic-punk reality. She felt out of place again, but now she felt too normal. The people here were all wearing some form of black clothing. Leather jackets, trench coats, black t-shirts from bands like Marilyn Manson and Stabbing Westward. Many of them wore white make up, trying to make their pale and clammy skin even more unnatural. It seemed as though all of them had some kind of body piercing. Eyebrows, earlobes, noses, tongues - nothing was sacred. She could only imagine what else was penetrated. She thought about turning back, but then her anger welled up inside of her again, and she set her jaw and walked up to the entrance. The doorman, a gaunt lanky man with long black hair and hawkish features, looked over her incredulously as she handed him her ID and $5 cover charge. She stared back at him, silently waiting for entry to the club. He shrugged, handed her card back to her, and stamped her hand. She walked past him and through the black doors that throbbed with the bass from inside. The music assaulted her senses as she broke the threshold. Loud, pulsing and slow rhythm coursing through her body, so loud she could hardly think. A dark voice, chanting over and over again "I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead" while a sea of ashen hedonists gyrated on the dance floor. Everywhere she looked, she thought she felt eyes on her. Amused. Curious. She stood out like a sore thumb, and she hated it. She got a drink from the bar, and found an empty booth in a dark corner. It had a good view of the dance floor, so she figured that if he showed up she could see him from there. She sat there for what seemed like hours, drinking the whole time, waiting for him. Her head was swimming, the music so loud and constant that it seemed like it was coming from within her. That even if she covered her ears it would be just as loud, just as invasive. This was hopeless. This was inane. Why had she even bothered? She was just about to get up and go when a woman slid into the booth next to her. She was, of course, pale. Just like all the other people here. Her skin was chalk white, but smooth. Blemish free. She was beautiful. Raven black hair cascading down over her shoulders and across her back. She had green eyes, one could almost say emerald, and was wearing black lipstick on her full lips. She had on what could be called a cape, over a tight black lace corset, strung up in the front with black ribbon. Her large breasts were pushed together and up by the garment, and she had a black rose nestled in between them. Misty scooted back, alarmed, as the woman lifted a cold hand to her face and caressed her cheek with black fingernails. "How long are you going to wait for him?" she whispered, tilting her head to the side as she stared at Misty. "What...what do you mean?" Misty asked. "You have to be waiting for a man. I've been watching you. You're staring at the door as if Jesus himself was about to rise from the depths of hell and come waltzing in here to save us all." Misty laughed at that, the liquor making her head swim, and as she boldly replied "What makes you think it is a man?" The woman smiled. "True. It could be a woman. But women are smart, and I don't think a woman would leave someone as pretty as you waiting for this long." Misty leaned forward, looking deep into the smoldering eyes of the pale temptress before her, and whispered "Do you really think I'm pretty?" "Oh yes" the woman cooed, and leaned forward to press her lips against Misty's. Misty has actually been with a woman before, so the sensation was not all together new to her, but she had forgotten how soft a woman felt when she was pressed up against her. How much more intimate a kiss between women was. How tender the lips felt as the parted, how teasing the tongue was as it danced within her mouth. The woman leaned in, pressing her corseted chest against Misty, running those dark fingernails down over her t-shirt and caressing her nipples. Misty moaned and leaned back, her head tilting over the back of the booth. The woman leaned in again, hovering over her and placing small kisses over her face, her left hand now actively caressing one of Misty's breasts through the shirt. The woman kissed her ears, her cheek, worked her way down over to her neck and lingered there, kissing softly. Then she began to nibble. Suck. Her tongue darting out and teasing. Then, without warning, she started to bite harder. Misty squealed and jumped up, the spell broken. The woman began to laugh, her mouth opening wide and revealing prosthetic canines over her regular teeth. Misty clasped her hand over her neck and began to back out of the bar, her mind racing. As she turned, she heard the bartender yelling towards the booth she was in. Bitching someone out for pulling the vampire routine again. She broke through the crowds and back onto the streets of 7th avenue. Enough was enough. It was time to go home, to forget he she had ever seen him, forget all of this craziness. Her face burned with humiliation and she walked back towards the parking garage, through the throngs of people. Right as she was about to turn towards the garage she passed a club called Masquerade. Violent music pulsated through the open doors of the club, a screaming guitar rift that exploded into the street. She turned and looked through the doors, and into the crowd inside. A group of men thrashed about in the middle of a dance floor, seemingly fighting each other to the beat of the music. Two men in particular spun around in the middle of the floor, the smaller of the two being swung by the arms of the first, being used as a weapon by the large, balding, tall... It was him. She stopped, unsure if what she was seeing was true. Sure enough, as he spun around again she could see it was the man she was looking for. He wasn't wearing his glasses now, and his face was red from exertion and dripping with sweat. His smirk was replaced by a look of bestial joy, his mouth open and screaming along with the words, exalting in the violence of the dance. But it was him. She smiled. Time for a little bit of revenge, she thought to herself as she paid the cover charge and entered the club. Misty Ch. 3 Making her way towards the bar, Misty watched her prey flail about in the middle of the dance floor as the music raged on. She burned with anger and lust, her eyes on fire as they bored into him. She ordered a soda (wanting to keep her head clear for the coming activities), and waited for him to leave the mosh pit. As the song came to an end, she was surprised again when he bent over and helped one of his fallen combatants to his feet. They laughed, and gave each other a good natured bear hug. She shook her head. She couldn't understand the appeal of slam dancing, but she was glad to see that those who participated in it didn't actually feel anger and animosity towards those they were dancing with. She slid off her bar stool, and began to cross towards where he was leaving the dance floor. Fortunately, he got where he was going before she made it all the way too him. She stopped dead in her tracks as he sat down across from a striking red headed woman. Misty was close enough to see the woman clearly. She was very pretty, with large, expressive blue eyes and a light layer of freckles on her skin. She was wearing a loose blouse that gently hugged her perky breasts. Misty could see her shapely legs under the table, the smooth flesh revealed by the shorts the woman was wearing. She couldn't hear their conversation of the loud music in the club, but she could tell that the red head was bemused by him. She kept looking at him with a quizzical smile on her face, as if she didn't even understand why she was there with him. He leaned over and said something to her that made her laugh out loud. Misty thought she looked very pretty when she laughed, that she was a beautiful woman in general. Misty also felt something else towards her. Jealousy. Envy. She wanted to know why the red head deserved to actually hold a conversation with him. Why she got to go out to clubs with him when Misty was used once and cast aside. She decided at that moment that she would teach him a lesson, let him know what he had missed out on, and have a little fun at the same time. She waited for the right opportunity. After a few minutes, the man stood up and headed back to the crowded dance floor. The music was much less violent now, and the wise people who had cleared from the path of arms and legs while the mosh pit had been in affect were now back out there, gyrating to a song by The Smiths. Misty was familiar with this one. The sensuous voice of Morrissey flowed from the speakers surrounding the room, as he serenaded the room with "How Soon Is Now?" Misty began dancing through the crowd, feeling the hot press of the crowd up against her. More than once she felt the "accidental" brush of a hand across her ass, but instead of distracting her it made her more excited about what she was about to do. Soon she found herself directly behind him as he rocked slowly on the dance floor. His head was tilted back, seemingly lost in the song. She slid directly up to him, inhaling deeply, taking in the tangy aroma of his cologne mixed with the sweat from his earlier excursions. She wrapped her arms around him, and began to sway along with him as he danced. He jumped a bit at first, thrown out of his trance, but he recovered quickly and continued dancing. He grabbed her hands at his waist with his, running his thick fingers over her skin. She was surprised at how soft his touch was, how much attention he seemed to pay to simply touching her. She slid her hands out from underneath his, and began to lightly scratch his belly, moving her fingernails in soft circles and tickling him softly. Then her hands began to move downwards, slowly inching towards his crotch. He inhaled sharply, and she could feel him tense up in her arms. She continued to moved downwards, until she could feel the bulge of his erection through his jeans. He felt as hard as he had the day in the library, his cock jumping traced the outline of it with her fingernails. He exhaled hard and turned around, wrapping his arms around and pulling her close as he said "What suddenly got you all worked up, Mel...?" He froze, her name caught in mid-sentence and his eyes widening as he realized who was actually holding him. He actually looks scared, she thought to herself. Good. "My name is Misty, motherfucker." He began to sweat again, but this time the thin sheen of liquid that was forming on his forehead had nothing to do with exertion. His face was ashen as he stammered in front of her. "What...what do you want?", he asked. "Just thought I'd get a little payback" she practically purred at him, as she pulled him close and began to grind into his pelvis. The music changed at that point, the mellow voice of Morrisey replaced with Annie Lennox as she crooned her song "No More I Love Yous." He glanced over her shoulder towards the table she had been sitting at. Misty couldn't see if the red head noticed what was going on, and she didn't care. He looked down at her again, licking his lips as he said "I didn't rape you." She leaned back in his arms, laughing loudly. So THIS is what he had been afraid of. That must be why he didn't come back! He thought she was going to accuse him of rape. She looked him in the eyes again, and smiled. "I never said you did, asshole." His eyes narrowed, and he blinked several times. She could tell the wheels were turning in his mind. He started to speak, stopped, and finally managed to ask "Then what do you want?" She moved her right hand to his crotch again, pleased to find that it was still hard through his jeans. She began rubbing it softly, as she pressed up against him. "To satisfy my curiosity." "About what?" he gulped, squaring his shoulders and making a feeble attempt to regain his composure. He was shaking slightly, no smirk on his face, no leer in his voice. She had caught him off guard, and she was eating it up. "Well," she drawled, letting the words roll over her tongue as she gripped the top of his zipper and carefully pulled it down. "I have to admit, I've been wondering what you taste like." He tried to pull away, but as he did so she reached into his pants and grabbed hold tightly of his cock. "I swear to God if you move I'll rip it off." He froze again. His mouth clapping shut as he stared down at her. "That's better," she said, gently sliding her hand up and down on his still rigid penis. She kept in tune with the music, letting it guide her hand. She moved slowly and deliberately, getting a feel for every inch of his cock, teasing it mercilessly. He was sweating profusely now, his eyes dancing all over her, questioning. Still not sure if he could trust what was happening, but unable to resist how good her hand felt on him. She began to sink lower as she swayed, her hand never leaving his cock. He gasped, and grabbed her by the shoulders. "What are you doing?!" he demanded. "Do you want to get us arrested??" Like a vise, she clamped down on him again, and for a brief moment all of her anger welled up within her chest as she whipped her head towards him and spat "That didn't seem to be much of a concern to you a few weeks ago! You could have got me fired, you big jerk!" With that she dropped completely to her knees, and before he could speak again she wrapped her lips around his cock and took it completely into her mouth. His whole body tensed again, and she thought for a minute he may very well shake her off, but he shuddered visibly, and all sense of resistance fled from his body. She had him now. He didn't care about the consequences, only how good her mouth felt on his dick. She began sucking him hard and fast, bobbing her head quickly up and down on his cock. He grabbed her by the back of the head, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, as he groaned. She began to hear murmurs around her, and she knew that several of the people dancing close to them were had noticed what she was doing, but she didn't care. She continued to feverishly fuck him with her mouth, taking it to the hilt and then back to the head again. He was pumping his hips faster now, his breaths coming faster and louder. She pulled back and began pumping his cock with her right hand again, leaving just the head in her mouth and sucking it hard. She occasionally would pull out and lick under the tip, sliding her tongue tenderly across the swollen head, then take it back in again and suck harder. She could feel him building up to it now, feel his muscles tense. His hands gripped tight to her hair and he began a guttural moan. She dropped her hand and took his cock all the way in, relaxing her throat and letting him slide down it. "FUCK!" he yelled as he came, his body shaking as he gushed into her mouth. For a minute, she thought she might gag on it, he came so hard. She managed to keep it down though, and continued to suck and swallow until he was done. She stood up again, looking around. Many people were staring at them, their eyes wide and their mouths wide open. She ignored them. She had never felt so powerful before, and that feeling was intoxicating. Her cunt felt like it was on fire, and she knew that if she looked between her legs she would see dampness showing through her jeans. She stared defiantly at him for a few seconds more as he tried to regain his composure, totally oblivious to the fact that he was still exposed to the club. She simply reached out and pointed to his open zipper, then turned away and pushed herself through the crowd and out into the cool October air. – After she pointed down at his crotch then spun away, he snapped out of the trance she had put him in and zipped back up his pants. He started to go after her, but then he remembered that he hadn't come here alone. He turned and looked back at that table, and sure enough Melissa stared back at him. She had seen it all. He cursed to himself, knowing that he had blown it with her, and made his way back to the table. The crowd seemed to part in front of him, clearing the path towards the table where his judgment awaited. "Melissa," he started, "I..." but he stopped as he realized she was smiling. Broadly. She had a mischievous look in her eyes. Yet again, he found himself completely unprepared for what he heard next. "Who was that gorgeous creature?" she inquired. He looked towards the door, then back down at Melissa, then out the door again. He relaxed and smiled, thinking that perhaps the evening wouldn't turn out so badly after all. "Misty," he answered. "Her name is Misty." Misty Ch. 4 She walked out of the club with her chin held high. People cleared a path for her as she sauntered, full of herself, through the crowds and out the door. She managed to keep herself together until the door of her car closed. The second that thing latched shut she started to breathe again and screamed. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins with the speed of a train, making her heart beat so hard that she felt if she looked down she would see it swelling two feet from her chest like some lovesick cartoon character. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the steering wheel, waiting for her body to stop shaking. Eventually it did, and she began to softly laugh to herself and she took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. She turned the key in the ignition and her beast of a car rumbled into life. She began to laugh softly, shaking her head and trying to sort out the mix of emotions flowing through her. She began to replay the events in her mind, but her brow furrowed as she realized what she had just thought about herself. Love sick? She wasn't love sick. Why did those words cross her mind. She didn't even know this man or anything about him. For all she knew he could have been a convicted murderer. No, she thought to herself, I'm not love sick. Love sick my ass. Yet again, the torrent of emotions began to wash over her, just like it did the first time she was with him. She suddenly found that she was disgusted with herself, and what she had done. Then she thought about it a little more, probed a little deeper. It was true she didn't know this stranger, but did she know what he represented in her world? She had been going through the motions of her life for so long, like some kind of zombie. Her days came and went and were barely distinguishable from one another. Now she was feeling guilty, but not because of what she had done with her stranger. She realized she had been cheating herself, and her children. She hadn't been living for years now, just sitting back and being content surviving. Then this man came into her life, and in the course of one silly little afternoon at work, one taboo moment of sexual misconduct, he had changed that. She realized that she was alive again, that she was full of hope and thoughts of the future. She was filled with an inner fire that had not only been missing from her life for some time, but may not have ever been there in the first place. If it was, it had never been this intense, and she didn't want it to end. She smiled to herself and realized that she was hooked. Addicted. She laughed again, and honestly wondered if there was a 12 step program for this kind of hang up. Still smiling, she realized that if she was addicted that it was at least a good feeling, and resolved herself to being a junkie for the time being. When she got home she walked in the house to find her friend Julie dozing quietly on her couch, a paperback novel on the floor by her feet where she had obviously dropped it while dozing off. Misty smiled as she looked down at Julie, grateful again to have such a wonderful friend in her. Julie had four children of her own, and every once in while they would take turns kicking the other out of the house and making them go out for an evening. Misty hadn't let Julie do that to her in a long time, and when she had called her up to ask if she would watch her girls Julie had practically jumped at the opportunity. Misty bent over and picked up the white paperback book, turning it over to read the cover. She wasn't surprised at the scantily clad woman or the muscular warrior man on the front, but she had never heard of a place called "Gor" before. Julie had some bizarre interests, and a fantasy novel about muscular men and big chested slave looking girls was right up her alley. Misty set the book down on the coffee table and leaned over to shake Julie awake. Julie started, her breath catching in her chest as she looked around quickly and tried to figure out where she was. She relaxed as she looked up at Misty, and smiled at her as she stretched. "Mmmmm, hey!" Julie yawned, "I must have dozed off." "No shit," Misty laughed. "I could hear you snoring two blocks away." "Bitch! I did not! Besides, if you had some decent coffee in this place I wouldn't have fallen asleep in the first place." "Sure, sure. Blame it on me. Get your ass out of here so I can go to bed!" Julie laughed again, and got up from the couch. After picking up her book, she began to walk towards the door. She was watching Misty closely, and after a few steps she stopped and cocked her head to the side. "You look different, Misty." She finally said, "what's his name?" Misty's head whipped around, and her mouth dropped open into a gasp that erupted in a fit of laughter. "And what makes you think that my mood has anything to do with a MAN?" she asked, emphasizing the word man with a playful yet mocking tone as she crinkled up her nose. "I've known you for years, Misty." Julie lectured, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I've watched you come home from many evenings out. The only time I've ever seen you come home with that kind of saunter and twinkle in your eye is when you've had a fire unsuspectingly lit under your ass by a man. You had it the after the first time you went out with Jo, and you have it now. Tell me I'm wrong!" Misty blushed slightly, and Julie laughed at her. "Busted!" "Yeah, yeah. Whatever!" Misty scoffed, grabbing Julie by the shoulders and pushing her towards the door. "Thanks for bringing up the asshole. Always nice to have your friends to cheer you up!" Julie continued to laugh as she opened the door. "Uh huh, sure. Try to change the subject. You can't fool me! I'll lay off until you come down off your little high there, young lady. I will badger you about this new man in your life, and I want all the sticky details!" "Yes Ma'am! But don't get all pouty when you realize I don't even know the guys name yet. Good night, Julie!" Misty said, as she saluted with her right hand and slammed the door in Julies face with her left, cutting off the series of questions that were about to explode from her wide eyed and shocked face. She kicked off her shoes and smiled to herself, still reveling in the new feelings she had inside. She felt a sudden need to be close to her children, so she went to their room to check on them. The urge to be close to her children, to be reminded of who she was and what her role in life was, was almost overwhelming. These new feelings were wonderful, and she wasn't trying to get away from them, but the felt the urge to be grounded again. To have a little bit of reality back so that she could get come down from the clouds. She needed to reach out to the sweet angels that had kept her going for so long. They had reminded her in the past that she had to continue, but now she needed them to remind her that she had to live. She sat on the edge of her youngest daughters bed and stroked her cheek, a tear forming in her eye. An all encompassing sense of contentment settled over her that had been a long time in the coming. She felt like she could breathe again. As if her life suddenly started to move again. She realized she had been asleep, just coasting through her days. Not living. Simply feeding the machine that was her body and not paying attention to world around her. Even though he would probably never know the gift he had given her, she would be grateful to this odd man for some time to come. After sitting with her girls for a few minutes, she went to the bathroom and started to undress. As good as she was feeling, the stench of cigarettes and sweat that seemed to be following her like a cloud needed to be gone, and fast. It had been so long since she spent all night in a club, and she was remembering one of the reasons why it wasn't always wonderful. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had accused her of smoking (or worse) after smelling her clothes from a night of dancing at DNA. She pulled off her t-shirt, damp and practically sticking to her from the nights activities. The frosty air conditioned breeze from her apartment washed lovingly over her, caressing her soft flesh with it's seductively cool touch. She closed her eyes and turned to face the vent, letting the wind blow into her face like the almost imperceptible touch of a sensitive lover. She thought of the man again (cursing inwardly as she realized she still didn't know his name), and of his quiet gentility. How fluidly he moved, how he seemed to have a softer side that he tried to hide away. She wondered if his touch could be as light, as gently refreshing, as this. After all, she had already felt the animal side of him. In abundance! She shivered gently, and she wondered if it was from the air conditioning or from the memory of him taking control of her in the library, infecting her mind and moving in (seemingly for good). She reached up and hooked her fingers under the edges of her moistened sports bra, quickly lifting it up and over her head. Her chest heaved in a sigh of relief as her breasts sprang free from the restrictive garment. Her nipples hardened instantly from the chill in the room. She turned and looked into the mirror, smiling in admiration at her figure. She had never been a chesty woman, and after breast feeding two children she was glad of it. She ran her hands over the small but well rounded tits, pleased that there were still no signs of sagging or stretch marks visible on them. She frowned slightly as her fingernails traced the outline of her nipples, remembering how sensitive the used to be. The suckling of her daughters had hardened them and made them almost immune to touch. When she was younger a skillful tongue could bring her to orgasm by teasing her nipple alone, but that wasn't the case anymore. When they hardened now, it was autonomic. She could hardly feel them now. Then her mind flashed for a moment and she wondered what he would do if he could play with them? She screamed quietly to herself, trying hard not to wake the children. She shook her head from side to side, letting her hair fly about. She needed to shake this stranger. He was nothing to her, he had no place in her life. He played a game, she made her counter move, and now the game was over, damn it. Constantly thinking about him wasn't going to do anything but frustrate her, and chances are he could never live up to the fantasy that she had in her mind. She pulled off her socks, unbuttoned her jeans, and dropped them and her panties to the floor in one swift movement. As she straightened back up, she slid her hands up her legs, rubbing them lovingly along her calves, up over her knees, along her inner thighs and then back around to her ass. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror again, pleased once more with what she saw there. She had always been happiest with her ass, and she loved the way it looked. Very round and firm, with just enough bounce to make it exciting. Her hands circled those cheeks a few more times as she looked over her shoulder and nodded approvingly. "Well I can see why he wanted me so badly" she said to her counterpart in the mirror, who seemed to agree with her completely. "Reading a book like that and then having to look at such a scrumptious ass like this, how could he resist?" Giving her buttocks a quick little slap, she twirled around to make sure there was a clean towel hanging up before she stepped into the shower. The hot cascade of water that ran over her was a sharp contrast to the cool air of her apartment. She closed her eyes and let her head rest under the torrent for a moment, the tension of the evening melting away. She stood that way for several minutes, simply letting the stream soak her head, breathing in the steamy air. Finally she shook herself from the trance that the water created and reached forward for the soap. As she began to lather her body, she again thought of her mysterious lover. She wondered what it would be like to have him behind her in the shower, his body pressed up against hers, as he ran the bar of soap across her belly then down between her legs. Damn it! She thought, I'm doing it again! Hell, he's probably at home fucking that red head he was at the bar with. I'll bet right now he's got her spread eagled on the bed, holding her cunt open as he lowers his mouth down to it. I'll bet she's a natural redhead. I'll bet she loves it when he takes his tongue and plays with her clit. When he runs his fingers up inside of her. Ha. She doesn't know what it's like to really be eaten. Why, I could show her a thing or to. Misty dropped the bar of soap as her hands dipped absent-mindedly between her legs. Inadvertently, she began to rub her fingers against her clit as her thoughts continued. I'll bet you that would get his attention all right! Seeing me down on my knees in front of her, fucking her with my tongue with my ass up in the air. I'd play with her nipples, too. Let my hand wander up there and run them between my fingers, scratching them with my fingernails. She began to rub her clit harder as her thoughts continued, her left hand reaching out to grab the top of the shower curtain rod as she moaned softly to herself. The sound of the shower seemed to echo in her ears now, broken only by the wet sounds of her hand as she began to furiously stoke herself. Then he'd come up behind me. He wouldn't be able to stand it anymore. He'd get down on his knees and put his cock right into me. I'd be ready for him. Jesus, I'd be so wet. He'd start to fuck me hard, pushing my face down into her cunt as he did so. He'd be trying to fuck us both THROUGH me. I can feel him inside of me. Taste her cunt. Oh, if we could all come together! That would be, God...that would.... She cried out softly as the orgasm took over her. As it began, she slid her fingers deep up inside of herself and began to shake, her legs almost giving out from the intensity of it all. She whipped her head back and opened her eyes, trying to remain clear even as she continued to cum for all it was worth. She was afraid she was going to fall. She could hardly feel her legs. Finally it began to wind down, and she felt her strength returning. She quickly finished her shower and stepped out, looking into the mirror again. She didn't know where all of those thoughts had come from. First she had all of these dealings with a total stranger, and now she was thinking about him and a strange woman? Why was she suddenly so out of control? She hardly slept at all that night. She kept thinking about them, and wondering who they were. More importantly, she wondered if she would ever see either of them again. She had thought the game was over, but what if it wasn't? Would they come to find her again? – She got her answer a few days later. A package arrived for her in the library mail. It was addressed simply to "Misty" care of the library's address. She actually hadn't been thinking about her two strangers when she got the package, so she didn't know what to expect when she found a video tape inside. Curious, she went to a VCR in the media department and put it in. She almost cried out loud when the screen was filled by the face of the stunning red head she had seen in the club with the stranger. "Hello, Misty" the woman said, smiling. "If I were you, I wouldn't watch this tape at work." Misty reached quickly forward and pressed the eject button, glancing around to make sure that nobody had seen. Taking the tape from the VCR, she rushed back to her desk with a million thoughts coursing through her brain. She looked up at the clock, and realized it was 5 more hours until she could go home and find out what was on it. She knew that those were going to be five very long hours.