1 comments/ 13736 views/ 1 favorites Monk & Natalie Ch. 01 By: ericthebard ((This is my first attempt at erotica. I hope you enjoy the story.)) The club was full of smoke. Most clubs of this kind are; strobes and smoke do funny things to lighting, and seeing as this was a rave club where everyone played with various lighted toys in order to cause the rush of sensation most X-heads knew as "blowing up", that made sense. But me, I stood in the corner, arms crossed over each other. I didn't feel like dancing yet. I don't do drugs; I like to keep my mind clear. Besides, the adrenaline rush from dancing itself is more than enough for me. An unlit bidi was behind my ear; I had quit smoking, not long ago, but I intended to burn this later tonight. Bidi's weren't tobacco, so all was cool and good. I watched the drugmunching morons lurch about, some of them actually not half bad in their manipulation of the glowsticks that were the trademark of this form of dancing. Raving is about nothing so much as becoming a living sculpture to the beat driving you; everyone's interpretation was different. My personal favorite was a rather attractive guy in the corner, rolling an imaginary ball between his hands. His movements were liquid and precise, skilled and solid; you could almost see the ball in his hands, rolling on its own. It was while I was focused on him that I heard the voice in my ear. "You been starin' at him all night. You gay or somethin'?" I turned to see a stunning but impish face looking at me with a sort of amused disdain. I smirked. "Bi, actually. What's it to you?" She returned the smirk in kind. "Nothin' t'me. Why ain't you dancin?" Her diction was clear and her eyes were focused -- I didn't think she was on anything. I shrugged. "Don't feel like it. No sticks. Just diggin' the beat and watching the unwashed masses make unholy fools of themselves." Suddenly, two green glowing rods were being waved under my nose. I smiled and tipped my head back, making a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "C'mon, girl. Why y'pickin on me?" "You the only one not dancing. I'm Natalie." She grabbed my hand and put the sticks in it, closing my fingers around them. "You're cute. I wanna see you dance." I snorted, slid the sticks between my fingers, and smiled as "Gotta Get Through This" by Daniel Bedingfield started pumping across the speakers. How appropriate. "Eric," I said, as I got to work. I'm trying to describe this so that those who do not rave or have never seen a raver in action can understand what I mean, but here is where I lose the words to do so. Techno music is mostly backbeat and synthesizer, and the dance that goes with it is all personal, all interpretive. I started with my feet planted at shoulder width, hands graced with lightsticks tracing opposing figure eights in the air. Then I started to add flourishes, crossing my wrists and circling the sticks inward, then outward; and then as the beat sped up, I matched it, hands moving almost of their own accord, body moving to accomodate the more extended motions in fluid stretches, the whole centered on the dancing lights in my hands. My feet began to shuffle, and I moved slightly, now tracing an intricate webwork of designs in the air. I saw her watching me, eyes following the sticks, body moving to the beat. She was a sweet little number -- trim, like I like, athletic without being overmuscled. She popped out sticks of her own, and was soon surrounded by streaks of light. We danced like that for some time; techno remixes go anywhere between five and seven minutes. Doesn't sound like much, but I'd like to see your average couch potato pull five minutes of continuous stickwork. There have been mornings I had to take painkillers just to raise my arms enough to put a shirt on. When the song ended, she gestured me into a small, darkened corner. It wasn't until she shut the door that I realized we were in a closet. "Hey, what," I began, but didn't get the chance to finish. She grabbed the lapels of my overshirt and slammed me into the wall, fastening her mouth on mine like a hungry leech. Her tongue invaded my mouth like fanboys would like to invade Lara Croft, and I almost choked. So I did the only reasonable thing. I continued the kiss, hands sliding over her back, one tangling in her long hair. I pulled her head back, breaking the kiss and making her gasp. "You could have asked," I said, bending my mouth to her throat and taking some of the taut skin between my teeth. I clamped hard, not hard enough to break the skin, but it'd leave a good mark. "You'd -- ahh! -- you'd have said no." Her nails dug into my back through my shirt. She'd ruin the silk if she weren't careful. One hand slipped up and clawed lightly at the back of my neck. I shivered. "Maybe." I slid both hands up to her shoulders -- and shoved her away from me, forcing her back into a teeth-rattling collision with the far wall (which wasn't very far). Then I pushed forward, pinning her there, eye locked on hers with a predatory grin. "Maybe you should have worried that I'd say yes." "I never worry," she replied, sliding her hands under my shirt and digging her nails in my back. I hissed, then roughly took her mouth back, our tongues fencing like Olympic masters. She slid my overshirt over my shoulders; I pulled her shirt over her head, breaking the kiss only long enough to manage it and to allow my shirt to follow. Her skin was warm, and she smelled of vanilla. I pulled her to me, burying my nose in her hair and breathing deep, as one hand undid her bra with the old pinch-and-slip. Works every time, once you've practiced it a bit. I pulled back to let it slip of of her. It was too dark to see a damn thing in the closet we were in -- perfect dark, you might say. Her hand slid into my pocket, where I had stuck my sticks after the dancing, and pulled one out. Her face was flushed, eyes dilated, and her expression was disturbingly hungry. I knew the same look was on my face; slightly crazed, predatory. "You got a condom?" she asked. I shook my head. I hadn't intended to get laid tonight. "You?" "Yeah. Never go nowhere without 'em." She started to dig one out of her pocket, and I used the break to try and get my spinning brain back to rights. "You pull strangers into broom closets for a quickie often?" I asked, trying not to gasp for breath. "You follow girls who do often?" I conceded the point as she stuck the square foil in the waistband of her panties, and the glowstick back in my pocket, plunging us once more into blindness. Our pants were still on, but we kicked off our shoes and went about fixing that problem. My hand undid the snap of her low-cuts, sliding in between the denim of her jeans and the silk of her thong. She clutched me, nails digging in -- I was going to be marked all to hell when this was done. I liked it a little rough. Her thong was moist -- come to think of it, my little soldier was making its little mark on my jeans too. I never wore underwear. Her own hand slid into my jeans and discovered this fact as she was clawing my shoulder. I pulled her thong aside and slid a finger inside her. Her kiss redoubled in ferocity, and her hand clenched hard on my cock. My free hand yanked her hair back again, eliciting another gasp from her, as I bent to worship her absolutely spectacular breasts. I had seen them, in that brief instance of light -- not big, but shaped nicely, small, high, and firm. My searching tongue found the nipple and circled it; I closed my lips around the hard point and sucked. She shuddered, and I felt her head fall forward as I let go of her hair to support her. I felt her teeth close on my shoulder, and I winced. I bit her breast, and she moaned, biting my shoulder harder. I moved downward, now, licking as I went, and she leaned back against the wall of the small closet we were in. Her thong followed her pants, which followed my hands, and I leaned forward and stuck my nose in her bush, inhaling the clean, thick scent of her arousal. Her hand tangled in my short hair. "God, do it, raver boy," she said challengingly, spreading her legs after extricating them from her pants. "Eat me. Do it, come on." I obliged, first making small, light, teasing licks on her outer lips. Then I spread these with my hands, sliding my tongue into her slit and painting her labia with long strokes. I hunted blindly for the hard nubbin, found it, flicked it. She groaned and clenched her fist in my hair, shuddering slightly. I felt her fluids flow, and set about cleaning them up as she bathed my face in her arousal. Her breath was coming shorter and shorter as I sucked on her clit. When I judged her to the edge, I suddenly bit down on her clitoris. She uttered a high, keening scream between clenched teeth, and it seemed as if she were trying to pull my hair out as she came, hard, in that instant. I wasn't worried about the noise; the music was loud enough out there you had to shout to be heard. Now she was pulling my head, gasping, "Up. Up." in an insistent, harsh monotone between her still-clenched teeth. I stood up, and she dropped to her knees, shoved down my pants, and made me gasp as she enveloped my cock in her mouth. She was good, too. She applied enough suction I was afraid she'd burst something at first; then she relaxed and began applying her wondrously talented tongue. She raked her teeth along my length, and over the head; by this time I was so charged, it only turned me on further. One finger pressed against my anus, and I gasped and stiffened; then she began humming, and suddenly jammed her finger into my rear. It hurt, and I suddenly arched, gave a choked shout, and came, the sudden pain pushing me over the edge into a literally blinding orgasm. Even if it hadn't been dark, I'd have been blind as as a sheet of white light flashed over my eyes. I felt myself pumping, harder than I'd ever done, and she drank it, massaging my wounded ass as she did. I hoped I wasn't bleeding; the girl had NAILS. When she was done cleaning my cock, I felt her move of it and give it a few experimental tugs. "What's it gonna take to get Junior here going again?" she asked. "Not much," I gasped, and sure enough, I was hardening already. "Good," she said. I heard her stand, and then my cock was pressed against firm flesh as she pressed her ass back against me. The song playing was a deep bump'n'grinder, and she gave me my own personal little bare-skin lapdance. It wasn't long before Mr. Happy was back in the game; she moved away, ong enough to search my jeans for the glowstick and the condom. My man went a little soft at the delay, but a few quick throatings did wonders for that little obstacle. She slid the condom on like a pro, buried the stick in the piled clothing, and in the dark, I heard her turn around, I felt her ass press against me, and I felt her hand guide me into warmth and tightness. She moaned, and chuckled low; I felt the vibrations around my cock, and I began to move slowly. My hand traced lightly down her back, and she arched like a cat; then I clawed, digging my short, rough-bitten nails into her skin, and she shuddered and cried out. She pressed back against me, meeting my thrusts. So it was, in the dark, two animals mating with a bestial fervor, fueled by music and lust, fired by passions baser than any others. We took each other, slow pleasure egged on by brief flashes of sudden pain. I heard her gasp, and felt her twitch, and as she clenched in orgasm, I followed suit, spilling into her with a guttural growl. We both fell to our knees, separating; she turned and collapsed into my arms, and I caught her. We kissed, this time slow and gentle. She bit my lip, almost hard enough to draw blood; I pulled her hair again as she did, forcing her to release me. "Natalie." I said. "Eric," she replied. "I'm hoping this isn't a one-shot." "It ain't. Been watching you for weeks. 'S how I knew you could dance. Wanted to be sure of you, first. They call you the Monk, y'know, 'cause you always leave alone." "Not this time, I hope." I felt her smile against my chest; she bit my nipple, hard enough for me to hiss. "Nope. Not this time." Monk & Natalie Ch. 02 Monk and Nat have kind of invaded my head. At the time of this writing, the first chapter is still pending, so I don't know how you all will like it. I hope you do. Hopefully, Monk and Nat will have more to do in the future. It was a week after that first night at the club. Natalie had indeed gone home with me that night, but I had been slightly cool to her the past few days. We hadn't slept together since that first night, but we did hang out together, shopping, catching some movies, and even checking out other guys and girls at the beach. It was during one of these people-watching sessions that she suddenly turned to me and said, "You need somebody." I snorted, eyebrows rising over the rims of my sunglasses. "Where did that come from?" I asked. "Sheeyit, girl, I got all I can handle takin' care of myself." I took a sip from my soda. Behind the sunglasses, my eyes were on her, wondering where she was going to take this. She was in a little black tank top, braless, and silk boxer shorts. Really fuckin' hot, to say it plainly. She had auburn hair, this deep brown-red that smoldered where the sun hit it .She had sunglasses, too -- can't live without them, down here in the Liquid Sunshine State. Much as it rained in Florida, when the sun was out, it was blinding. Behind them, her eyes were sea-green. Not for the first time, I wondered what this goddess was doing with me. She glanced at me, that impish smile turning her pixie face slightly sinister. "'S my point, Monk." She insisted on using that nickname, particularly since she'd seen my house. I have my own place, a small apartment almost devoid of decoration. Nor do I own much. "You can't take care of yourself. Look at you." She reached out and poked my stomach. I slapped her hand away. I'm thin, wiry; scrawny, if you're feeling uncharitable. I'm a testament to the idea that the less effort you put into your appearance, the better; my brown hair was cut short in a no-maintenance style, I had no piercings or tattoos to take care of, I only shaved because it was easier than dealing with a beard, and my clothes were almost all black, white, or gray, so I didn't have to waste effort figuring out which color went with what. Right now, I wore black jeans with a white shirt; I never wore shorts. "What's wrong with how I look?" I demanded, slightly offended. "Long list or short?" I made as if to push her off the picnic table upon which we sat, and she laughed. Then she got serious again. "Seriously, Monk....I know you're lonely. Lot of people call you friend, but they never visit, and you never invite them. Hell, you ain't even invited me over, after that night. You hide. Your books, your music...only reason you ever leave your house is to go clubbing, and ONLY to that one club, and then, you dance by yourself." I couldn't deny any of it, so I just sat sullenly, staring off at the horizon. I didn't feel like talking about this. My silence was a warning, one she ignored. "I mean, what gives, Monk? You're a cute guy. You're funny. You can be friendly, when you quit hiding. I don't --" "Look, why the fuck you care, anyway, Nat?" I cut her off with a growl. "You got your pick of guys. I don't get out enough? Find one that does." I watched her flinch, and instantly felt like a heel. To her credit, she rose to the challenge. "I picked you." "Why?" The question was simple, quiet. It had been between us ever since that first night she seemed to pick me at random. I'd never voiced it until now. She hesitated, then. "Does it matter?" she asked suddenly, almost too quietly. I was too used to reading people not to realize she didn't want me to push the matter. Too bad. Push me, get pushed back. It was the way of things. "Yeah," I replied softly. "Maybe it shouldn't, but it does." For a moment, when she looked at me, there was hate in her eyes. I mean it, too. Real, burning, murderous hate. It flickered and was gone in an instant, but I was certain I had seen it. Suddenly, she got up."Come on." I stood up, brushing the seat of my pants off. The moment had passed, and I allowed it to. Pushing this farther would lead to areas neither of us wanted to go; it might have gone too far already. Damn it to hell, Eric, you never could leave well enough alone. I admired teh sway of her rear as we walked in silence to her car, a sweet little '00 Civic in sky blue. In silence we got in; in silence we pulled out of the beach parking lot; in silence, turned onto the highway. She turned on the radio; Puddle of Mudd, "Blurry", my mind immediately identified the tune. "You could be my someone, you could be my scene, Know that I'll protect you from all of the unclean Wonder what you're doing, wonder where you are There's oceans in between us, but that's not very far..." She snapped off the radio suddenly, her mouth twisted in disgust. I sighed. "Sorry." "Shut up, Monk," she replied, almost tenderly. We drove like that for several minutes, finally stopping in front of a gym. It was empty; closed. Natalie flipped her keyring several times, selecting the proper key and unlocking the door, jerking her head to indicate we go in. As she locked the door behind me, I took stock. It was a kwoon, I quickly realized. Jeet kune do. I had taken it for a short while; learned just enough, really, to get myself in trouble should I use it. I never did. I avoided fights as much as possible. The smells were what tipped me off -- place like this, the smell of sweat sinks into the mats, and there isn't much you can do about it. Your best bet is a shitload of Febreze and prayer. "My dad's," she said, coming up beside me. I had taken off my shoes and bowed as soon as I realized what the place was. "You took JKD?" "Few years back," I replied, looking around. "In high school. Mom ran out of money for it after a few years." "Good. I won't feel so bad about this." In retrospect, I should have cut and run there. As it was, I turned and recieved a solid right to the jaw. And that was that. I don't hit anyone unprovoked. Hell, I ignore most provocation. BUt this was unacceptable. Her left was following her right; I caught her at the wrist with my own left, and yanked her off-balance. Quick as a blink, I wrapped around behind her, then forced us both down on our knees, her arched back with my hand pulling up on her chin. My left had bent her arm back, forcing her wrist up between her shoulderblades. It hurt; it had to. I heard her hiss. "Guess I shouldn't feel too bad about this," I hissed in her ear, and tugged lightly on her arm. She grunted in pain. "Fuckin....bastard..." she panted. I pulled up on her chin more; it was getting hard for her to breath, I could tell. The high was in my brain, the adrenaline rush, telling me to pull, pull, rip the bitch's head off, break her arm, snap her neck. In my mind, the procedures for doing just these things ran, a grisly arabesque of motion and murder. I suddenly let go of her and backed off. "FUCK!" I shouted at the ceiling. Years ago, I had felt the same thing. Almost killed a kid; almost suffocated him. I swore I wouldn't get in that mode again; that bloodlusting murderous rage. It was why I had really quit, why I had never started again. Why I hid. I stood there, shaking, hands fisted at my sides, rage coursing through me. I fought it, forcing it back, reasserting control. Suddenly, warm arms were around me, pinning my arms to my sides. Hot breath in my ear. "Shh, Monk. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry." Too much. From one extreme to the other; I broke, tears sliding from my eyes. I turned in her arms and clung to her, sobbing silently into her hair. She held me there, for a while. After some time, after the tears had stopped, she pulled back, and kissed me. I fed off her kiss, fed off her mouth, returning the kiss with ferocity that welled up in me from I don't know where. I pulled her to me, lips locked together hard enough to bruise, and she responded, nails clawing through my shirt. My own hand slid up the back of her tank top, and suddenly clenched, bunching the cloth in my fist. Somewhere, I dredged enough restraint to take it off of her without ripping it to shreds. My own shirt soon followed, and then we were skin to skin, flesh to flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat....rage to rage. I don't remember removing the rest of our clothing, but I do remember pinning her to the floor, slamming into her in one long thrust, my hands on her wrists, her heels in my back. The ferocity was frightening; we were animals, in that gym, violence and lust intertwined. I think I drew blood when I bit her lip; I know she did when, after I let go of her hands, she clawed my back. There were no niceties in this; no tenderness, not even anything I would call real passion. This was anger; this was animal heat; this was rage redirected. I took her, and made her mine; she took me, and made me hers. She rolled us over, and sat up, riding me, hands raking my chest, hair a burning waterfall as she leaned her head forward and clenched her hands, nails driving deep into the flesh of my pectorals. I sat up, teeth closing on a nipple, biting hard and tugging; she cried out, and came, shudderingly, her claws at my throat. She bit my shoulder, and we rocked like that for a while, until I could hold back no longer, and spent into her with a shout that seemed enough to rock the foundations of the world. Exhausted, we lay, her on my chest, still connected as I began to soften. I stroked her hair, my rage gone, and held her tight. I could think of nothing to say, so of course I spoke. "Natalie, I --" "Shut up, Monk," she said against my chest in a wearied voice. I shut up, and we lay there, at peace with the world. And for a little while, with ourselves. Monk & Natalie Ch. 03 There were actually two versions of this written, and what took me so long was deciding which version to post. If I get requests for it, I may post the alternate, although I feel this is a clearer and more reasonable ending considering the characters at hand. I call this the last of the Monk tales -- there may be more. However, this will be the last of them for a long while, until I am inspired to write about them again. I hope you enjoyed the first two, and I hope you enjoy this one. EtB I awoke awash in the scent of her hair. After the incident at the gym, we had come to my apartment. I had fed her dinner, and then we had gone to bed. It felt nice, having someone around, though I knew it couldn't last. Such things never did. I watched her lying there, her head pllowed on my chest, hair like autumn burning spread over me, and found myself unable to quite describe the feeling rolling through me at that moment. I was...calm. Calmer than I had been in a long time. I felt at peace, really. My rational mind threw up its hands in defeat as I tightened my arms around Natalie and enjoyed this transient state for a while longer. She stirred at the movement, then looked sleepily up at me. Her smile only lasted a second, though, as she suddenly sat bolt upright. "Shit! I gotta get home!" "What?" I asked, sitting up. "Already?" There are some looks you never want to see on another human face. The derision written plainly on hers qualified. "I've been here for almost thirteen hours, Monk. I have to go. My parents....well, they wouldn't understand." I watched her gather her clothes. "What the hell does that mean, Natalie? They wouldn't understand that you found a lover? Or that that lover is me?" I have never seen a woman move so fast. Quick as lightning, she dropped her clothes and pinned me to the bed. First she slapped me across the face. Then she pressed her lips to mine, hard; there was a desperation in her kiss, and I felt it. As she pulled away, an unreadable smile on her lips, I just watched her, stunned. "Answer your question, Monk?" she asked softly, as she got up to dress. "....not really," I admitted, as I got out of bed. She gave an exasperated sigh as she slipped her shirt over her head. My shirt, actually, but that was all right. "Look, Monk, some things are more complicated than we'd want them to be. I'll be back later today, okay?" She kissed me once again, then was gone. I was left with the scent of her perfume. I found myself missing her already, and gave a disgusted snort. I was turning into one of those hopeless romantics in a trashy romance novel. I shook my head and began cleaning the house. All day, Natalie was on my mind. I tried to banish her whenever thoughts of her threatened, but it did no good. I saw her dance, in my mind's eye; saw her laugh; saw her moan... I shoved that thought away with a growl and finally collapsed in a chair, one of my few pieces of furniture. The house was clean, and I was obsessed. I covered my eyes with one hand. There was a knock on my door. Irrationally, hope rose that it was her. I groaned and shoved that thought away as I got up to see who my visitor was, but as it happened, I had been right. I desperately tried not to smile as I opened the door on Natalie, looking perky and happy. The minute I opened the door, she filled my arms, but I pushed her away and turned to close the door. Then I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked at her from the corner of my eye. "We should talk," I said quietly. She pulled away. "I know how this goes," she said, taking over my chair and throwing one leg over the arm. "You're about to say you can't see me anymore, for some stupid reason." I covered my face with my hands. "Actually, the problem is that I can tell you no such thing. If you walked out that door, and didn't come back, I...." I took a deep breath. "This whole day, I've thought of nothing but you. Your skin. That hair. Your eyes. Your laugh. It..." I rubbed my arms. "I can't deal with this, Nat, but...."I turned my back in her, unable to look at her anymore. "You can't deal without me, either," she finished softly. I nodded. "Maybe you're right, that I need someone, Nat, but...my life is upside the hell down now. All I think about is you. All I see is your face. All I feel is your touch. I'm going fucking insane." I heard her get up; felt her wrap her arms around me. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me." She kissed the back of my neck. "Is it so hard to say, Monk? Here, I'll start. I --" She didn't finish. I spun in her arms, slapping one hand over her mouth before she could finish. "No." It was a whisper, a breath. "Not yet....I'm not ready for this, Nat. Please." Natalie pulled her head away with a hard shake. "When will you be ready, Monk? For the love of God, you need to know why, and then you need more time -- can't you just fucking accept? Can't you just...let go?" Her voice went from angry to plaintive. "Please, Monk...all this control is killing you. If you don't see it, I sure as hell do." I looked her hard in the eye. "Without it, I would have snapped your neck, back there in the kwoon." "Really?" she asked. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand and placed it around her throat. "Then do it, Monk. Rid your life of this unplanned distraction. Then you can get on with your hermitude, and wallow in the hell you've made for yourself out of four walls and loneliness." It was amazing how big her eyes got when I started squeezing. I was tired of being pushed. "Don't....tempt...me." I hissed. Her trust was admirable. She was almost crimson before she started really struggling. I let go at that point, and watched her gasp. I have never done anything so painful in my life as stand there and watch her fight for breath. But control....that I was good at. Self control was the hallmark of my life. She was making this terrible raspy sound, and I was alarmed until I realized she was laughing. "You think you're in charge," she said, giving me the coldest gaze I have ever seen. "ASk yourself, Monk...if you;re in control, then why didn't you just let go?" I froze as she gave a few last coughs, picked up her purse, and headed for the door. At the last minute, I caught her arm, spun her around, slammed her up against the door, and ground my lips on hers, my body against hers. She didn't fight; I think she knew what I was going to do before I did. As we broke, the words slipped from me. "I love you, Natalie. That what you wanted to hear? God help me, I love you." She smiled and twined her arms around my neck. "I know."