5 comments/ 15907 views/ 5 favorites One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #01 By: empty_coffee_cup Out into the snow, the temporary shelter of the overpass, the heavy down jacket the only thing between him and hypothermia, in search of a party. He had the address written - oh so cool, like a goddamn barfly or something - on a matchbook, but when he got to the right neighbourhood he got utterly turned around and wound up in a convenience store full of hip young things (it was that part of town) all looking for their own individual parties. That's why God made cell phones right? Everyone was on the phone to someone who knew someone who knew where the party was - he was pretty sure some of them were probably talking to each other. He was no better. "Y'ello." "Dude, where the fuck is this party?" "Oh, hey man! Are you here?" "No that's..." he pressed his thumb into one eye-socket, his forefinger into the other, he should never have called Travis. The guy already sounded hammered. "I'm asking you where the fucking party is. Why would I be calling you from inside the party?" "Shit, I don't know man, I'm pretty tanked already." "Trav. Focus. Where is the party? I'm at a... convenience store with a yellow sign." "Oh dude, you're like here already. Go out into the parking lot and look for the old cool looking building with the... like spire. That's it. You're at the store? I need potato chips man. I need them so bad." "You got it, see you soon." One less idiot on a cell phone steaming up the windows. - - - In the queue that stretched almost to the back of the store with an alarmingly large sack of potato chips and a six-pack of beer that wasn't completely terrible, but that almost all of his micro-brew loving buddies would be guaranteed to turn their noses up at. Of course he noticed her. He was a guy, he was single, he had noticed every single girl in the line, especially the one with the cute, square glasses and the pixie cut right behind him. "Ah... hey." And now she was talking to him. "Hi." "Sorry to be like this, I'm sure it's going to sound terrible, but I heard you talking on the phone over there..." "Oh God, I know, I sounded like an utter asshole, you don't have to... At least I was in good company right?" Hands in pockets he slung an elbow at the clutch of wool hats and panelled coats yelling down their phones facing the magazine rack. "No, I mean yeah. No-one looks good talking loudly on a phone in public." "Right?" He kept eye contact, he resisted all temptation to look down. He was casual, he was cool - he just wished his peripheral vision was able to take in more details than that she was wearing a very puffy looking white coat and that legs were somehow involved. A lot of legs (meaning that there was a lot of leg showing, not that she had more than two). "Well anyway I was meant to be going on a date tonight, and that went wrong in the most ridiculous way..." "What happened?" He was smiling. There was something about her that made him want to smile straight off - the way she kept half looking off when she started a sentence, then immediately remembered that she should be looking at him and kind of re-centred herself. If was very, very cute. She was at least six inches shorter than him. "Would you believe when I rang the buzzer I was interrupting him, mid coitus, with his not-so-ex?" "Oooh," he laughed. "They came to the door together - wrapped up in a blanket." "They did what?" "I know!" she looked away properly now, her brow wrinkling, her hands coming up out of her pockets to emphasise the unfairness of it. "Who acts like that?" "You were well out of that," he reassured her, hoping that this was going where he thought it was, and if it wasn't that the line would maintain it's present, glacial pace so that he could talk to this girl for as long as possible. Her face was pretty, but not thin. It had a softness to it that couldn't help but make her look - for want of a better word - kind. The glasses and the hair were perfect, they gave her a sharpness that she would have been lacking otherwise. He really wanted to stop time and really give her a thorough once over, but it was getting very quickly to the point where that wasn't all that important. "So I'm having a sucky night. I live round the corner and I was just going to go home and mix myself a vicious nightcap of some kind and curl up with Val Kilmer..." "Val..." "...Don't judge me - and then I heard you speaking on the phone, and I thought: what the hell." "Wow," he grinned. "So?" She looked up at him, and he only kept her hanging on for a few seconds. "Would you like to go to a party with me?" "I'd love to!" Her smile, a light that illuminated her whole face and made her cheeks perk up adorably, was really something. "So I'll buy this and... wait what were you getting?" "Oh I wasn't going to buy anything," utterly casual, "I just got in line to talk to you." "Wow." "Yeah. Can I chip in on those beers?" "Sure thing." - - - She left the store before him, and he offered up a little prayer of thanks. Legs were, most definitely involved, though a little differently to how he'd originally thought. She was wearing a denim skirt that was - well if it wasn't a mini then it was minimal, and it hugged her ass so well that he almost didn't get past it. Above it the white puffy coat with the fur-trimmed hood that he'd clocked before, and below it, like the cherry on the sundae, amazing, knee-high, black and white striped socks. They were running the risk of being a little too goth, but the blue sneakers and the denim were saving her, and they made her legs look... wow. She wasn't slim, but the curves she was blessed with were... faultless. The kind of guy who wouldn't turn his head to look twice at her was the kind of guy who had been brainwashed by the media into thinking all wrong about what makes a girl cute. In his head he didn't know how to describe her because she wasn't what she would call 'plump' or... anything as trite as that, but she wasn't thin. Ah, why was he thinking like this? She was what she was - plain cute. She waited for him outside. He scanned the ring of buildings surrounding them. "That one." "Whose party is it?" - - - As if that was important. He didn't recognise the lofty guy who pulled the door open for them, and in the packed apartment there didn't seem to be more than half a dozen faces he could place at all. One of them was like a six-foot vertical stripe of shellac. T-shirt, tattoos and jeans that were painfully tight to even look at - he was sinking into the middle of the couch. He waved drunkenly as they came in. The kitchen first, to deposit the beer, that was usually how these things worked, but here they had stalled in a throng of bodies in the living room, right in front of Travis. He threw the potato chips at the skinny punk, who let them fall into his lap. "Danny! Danny, who's your friend?" "Trav, hey. This is..." there was something about not knowing the name of the girl he was bringing to the party that made him want to laugh with joy. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask. He indicated her with both hands, as though introducing tonight's special guest. "Holly." There were people sitting cross-legged on the floor between them and Travis so she just waved in response to the hand he held out. "Travis. I'm young Daniel's sexual mentor." "That so?" A raised eyebrow and a sidelong glance. He melted. "Speaking of which," Travis was a few more than three sheets to the wind, "didja get me those chips Dan?" Dan made a finger-pistol and put a hole in the bag where it lay in his friends lap. "So you did." - - - First alcohol. Then out on the balcony of all places. It was cold but somebody had said hell to the electricity bill and hefted out two sizable electric heaters that made it possible for two or three people to lean against the railing, hogging the warm orange glow that they produced. When the three people who had been out there came in Dan and Holly took their chance. "So those legs of yours..." "Yes?" the light, too relaxed laugh of the pleasantly buzzed. "Don't they get cold? Are those socks enough?" He tried to put genuine concern into his voice, but wasn't sure he'd pulled it off at all. "Have you never suffered for fashion?" She turned, put her back to the rail and let her front get warmed. He followed suit. "I feel like meat. I'm going to keep turning over until I'm cooked on both sides." She poked him in the side, below his folded arms and he flinched in surprise. "Not done yet," she shrugged. The windows were steamed up so much they were opaque, but they could still make out colours and shapes that made it look like people had started dancing inside. "You don't really know anyone at this party do you?" she teased. "I mean, I was worried that you might have a bunch of people to talk to and I'd have to rely on my natural charm to make small talk with strangers, but you've been talking to me the whole time." "I know a few people," he shrugged, swigged on his beer, felt cool, probably wasn't. "Just happens that you're more interesting than any of them. I know who they are, I had no idea who you were." "So, once you've uncovered everything there is to know about me you'll stop talking to me?" "Once the mystery has completely vanished..." he wiggled his fingers and raised his hands - smoke dispersing, "maybe." After a moment: "It's nice to get away from the mob out here." He turned again and this time she copied him; looking out at the black sky, the patchwork of illuminated windows, the occasional snow flurry. Actually it had been pretty easy for them to be private inside. The place was so packed and noisy that no one was listening in on other conversations, and little pockets of space kept forming between people's backs like tiny temporary rooms. That said it wasn't really the atmosphere either of them had been looking for. Well, he hoped she felt the same way that he did. She. Holly. He hadn't used her name yet and he rolled it, soundlessly, off his tongue experimentally. He was getting a little drunk. They had already finished his beers and moved onto whatever else came to hand. "Wanna do something stupid?" She had been watching him. Had he mouthed her name in a really obvious way? Ah, he had an alcohol based pass, he was pretty sure. "Always." "Follow me." She was sitting on the balcony railing before he knew it and he half reached out, involuntarily, to catch her. "Relax, I'm not that drunk. Yet." The balconies on this building were of a pretty standard 70s design in that they were made as one long concrete ledge that stuck out from the side of the building and ran its entire length. They were divided for each apartment with pastel-hued floor to ceiling metal panels that were bolted into the floor, the wall and the ceiling. Holly shuffled right up next to the partition and, as he watched, she held on to the railing and the partition itself and swung one leg out into the snow speckled void, then brought it back in on the other side of the metal panel. "Fuck I'm gonna die," he laughed, sure that he'd read about something like this leading to some young idiot's doom in the past. Her trailing leg had already followed its double around and she was safely on the next apartment's balcony, leaning out and grinning at him around the barrier. "Whatcha waiting for?" A dare that he had no intention of turning down. Focussing himself, moving slowly to combat the giddy confidence the alcohol had stirred up in him, he followed her. Of course as he was sitting with one leg on either side of the thin metal wall he looked down and turned his gut into a vertiginous whirlpool. He couldn't resist. He saw another half dozen ledges like the one he was on jutting out, a flat roof that must have been the lobby and after that the street, car heads and tails illuminating the piles of snow and the huddled forms of those who still had somewhere to go. He brought his leg around the barrier and hopped onto the same concrete - a whole new balcony. His hand was on his chest, feeling his heart pound. Hers was too. "Jesus, it's cold out here." "No kidding!" he laughed, "Why did you take us away from those fucking heaters?" He straightened up, and it only seemed natural to wrap his arms around her, to pull her to him. They were sharing much needed body heat. Around her back his fingers complained and he clenched them into the cotton of her coat. "Not private enough," she whispered, and they heard someone new come out onto the balcony they had just deserted accompanied by a blast of noise from the party. The windows they were next to now were black, seemingly empty. He wasn't thinking straight anyway, she was leaning up now. Close but not close enough. He decided to make another witty comment but somewhere the electrical impulse hopped onto the wrong synapse and he kissed her instead. There was a height difference but it didn't take much more than inclining his head and her reaching up a little to remove it. Then their lips met and there were white flecks behind his eyelids, like the snow out in the dark. Her lips seemed so, so hot in the freezing night air, they seared him. Full and soft and wet and then they parted and he tasted - for all the alcohol they had been imbibing - he tasted cherries. The kiss didn't stop and their bodies fell under its sway and her tongue was in his mouth, meeting his, and his eyes opened as she stumbled into him and his back bumped against the thin partition that separated them from where they'd come from. Neither of them needed to breathe and their mouths were hotter, harder, more demanding. Leaning against the metal he could angle his body and reduce the height difference even more and his hands came off her back and slid down. Her hands were up flat on his chest, spread flat and pressing him, keeping him in place. He found the soft, sweet curve of her ass and had no restraint, just grabbed it, sinking his fingers in and enjoying it as much as he wanted. When they finally broke apart they seemed to be surrounded by clouds of steam - their hot, panting breaths floating out into the night. Voices came from behind him, it seemed that no-one knew they were there. "Hi Holly," he grinned again. "Hi Dan," she pursed her lips as if suppressing a smile, and then they were kissing again, his hands cupping and squeezing her succulent rump as she explored the contours of his thin chest. She found his nipples and gave them a light pinch. "Hard!" "It's fucking freezing out here!" "Wait," she pulled away from him and his hands missed her backside immediately. She was right up against the big French window, trying to peer inside, into the apartment whose balcony they had invaded. He thrust his hands into his pockets and gave the winter wind a sour glare. Then he looked back sharply as his brain caught up. "You're not thinking of..." "Shhh, I think it's empty." "Hey c'mon, we can't break into somebody's place." "No, I mean I don't think anyone lives here. There aren't any curtains." Just like that her small hand was fumbling with the recessed handle and... "Whaddaya know?" She gave him a smile that was half joy, half sinful intent as the window slid open. "Holy crap," he laughed. He had no trouble choosing the rash option. He followed her in. Darkness and dust, illuminated only by the pale orange sky of a snowy night in the city and the faint amber of the city lights. On the ceiling the headlights of passing cars made a constantly strobing pattern where they could reach up past the balcony. Holly had been right. There were no curtains, there was no furniture. The apartment was identical to the one they had just abandoned but it hadn't been rented for a long time. With exaggerated movements they stepped through a thin carpet of dust on the faux-wooden floor - Indiana Joneses exploring a lost temple. "Holy crap," he whispered again and she couldn't stifle the high, giddy giggle that he provoked. "Oh my God, I can't believe I did that." "What," his voice dry and withering, "You mean you don't break-and-enter neighbouring properties at every party you attend?" "Only when I've got a cute boy to break-and-enter with." She turned back to him and at the same time he had his arm around her and they were kissing again. Passionate, unrestrained, uncontrollable; her beestung lips dragging over the stubble on his upper lip, then finding his mouth and they were opened and joined and lost. The party next door was clearly audible through the wall, but the feeling in their new apartment was one of utter silence. Her hands came down, inside his jacket, lifting his t-shirt, but he caught her wrists just as her freezing finger-tips touched his stomach. It was cold in the unlit, unheated room, just not as cold as it had been outside. "Lets double check the place first, ok?" "Before what?" she smiled, the dirtiest smile he'd seen crack across her cute features yet, but she stepped away in agreement. The power was off, but the mains switch was just inside the front door so they flicked the fat breaker and a single recessed bulb in the kitchen area brought a little more light to their location. The bathroom smelled stale and the light in the bedroom worked, but the room was so cold it may has well have been outside. The living room had no working light, but the light shining out of the kitchen reached it and gave them all the illumination they needed. And the wall mounted heater worked. With a sleepy rattle of complaint it hummed to life and in minutes was pumping hot air out, stirring up the dust, bringing feeling back to their fingers and toes. They squatted, both apparently squeamish of getting down and dirty in the dust. On their toes and their haunches in front of the heater, they stayed close enough to kiss as warmth breezed past, carrying the smell of burning dust. When he was warm enough to think straight Dan rose, grabbing Holly's wrist quickly but gently and leading her two steps to a built in shelf that kind of acted as a ledge. He half sat, half leaned against it and pulled her to him again. Her hands slipped inside his jacket once more and immediately dropped to lift his tee. "I'm gonna have cold fingers." She bit her lip and looked up at him. "You might not think it to look at me," he gave a crooked smile, "but I'm pretty tough." She lifted his shirt and touched her fingers to his flesh and he hissed, he gasped. "Holy shit, that's cold." "Big tough guy, huh?" She leaned into him and trapped her own hands. He felt her heat, pressed against him all the way up, and for the first time his excitement crossed over to arousal. His heart pumped, his blood flowed and his prick gained weight and form in his jeans. Her lips sucking at his neck now, he gasped at the heat rather than the cold and let his head fall back. When had she unzipped her coat? He hadn't noticed, but under the thick down layer she was wearing a tight teal sweater that, again, showed off her curves delectably. He couldn't really see it all that well though, before she was against him. He hoped he'd get another chance. One of her hands rose, pushing up his shirt more and running over his chest. The other sank, sank between his stomach and the tight waistband of his jeans. There wasn't much room for exploration but he felt her stroking and tugging faintly at his hair. More blood. Thicker. Harder. But his hands? He had almost forgotten them, they were beside him, propping him against the ledge, but now they returned to the sweet ass they had so loved earlier. He cupped and sighed with pleasure to feel the weight, the shape of it, even as Holly's lips reached his cheek, then he leaned forward a little and hooked his fingers under the denim hem and started to pull up. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #01 "Eee!" she flinched this time, "Cold fingers!" "Cute ass," he shot back and hiked it roughly this time, pulling the tight skirt clear of the soft cheeks and exposing what felt like cotton panties. He wanted to see. "I've gotta see..." "Sure," she shrugged, acting like it was up to him, she didn't really care - but only acting. They had cranked the heat, and it wasn't too crazy now for her to step away, into the room and slip her coat off for the first time, hanging it over the open door that led to the bedroom. He stayed where he was and watched as she turned, her tight sweater showing off the curves he'd briefly met before as well as the perfect swell of her full, heavy breasts. And those socks, and that tight denim skirt, bunched up where he had pushed it and the glorious globes of her ass cheeks, pressing against black and white cotton panties. Oh God. Black and white stripes. They matched the socks. His heart stopped. She stretched her legs into the classic A-frame of a pin-up girl and bent over. His heart started again, and with it his cock really woke up. In the faint amber of the kitchen light he drank the moment like the potent cocktail it was. Holly bending at the waist, showing him the explosive curves of her rear wrapped in the same gift-wrap that her legs were. Hand on her knees she was looking back at him, lips pursed again, trying not to smile. Still with the glasses. He couldn't stand it. "Do you have the full set?" She didn't say anything, just nodded. "Oh shit," he laughed, "I am way out of my depth here." "I'll say," she straightened up, "I'm gonna eat you alive." She took a step towards him but he held a hand up, his cock clamouring for attention, giving him courage. "Show me." His voice, firm and demanding, surprised even him. "Show me the full, matching set." She gasped. She actually gasped just from what he said. "Tell me again." "Strip for me, Holly." "Mmm," her hips swayed, "With pleasure." And then turning and pushing her skirt down, shimmying her hips to get the tight denim over her curves she looked back over her shoulder at him. Striped panties and socks, cute blue sneakers and that clinging sweater. The skirt hit the dust. He threw decorum out of the window, swiftly and coolly unbuckling his belt, unfastening his jeans, splitting the fly and freeing his dick in moments. Her eyes widened, not from anything as dumb as his size, just from the matter-of-fact way in which he'd done it. "I don't know which one of us is more forward!" she giggled. He shot the crooked smile and shrugged, giving his thickening shaft one good stroke as his gaze licked and lashed her stripy ass and legs. "Fuck," she breathed, watching him even as she started to tug her sweater up. He held his breath. The curve of her small belly, the way her panties cut into her just the littlest bit. He stroked more, would have glanced down to see his cum gleaming on the head of his prick but couldn't take his eyes off her. This impossibly hot strip-show in this dusty, dead apartment. The party was still hammering away next door, but none of them were having this much fun. It was just a single swift movement that finally stripped the sweater off her, but when she turned back she was wearing only her bra, panties and her knee-high socks. All of them patterned with horizontal black and white stripes. Everywhere else her perfect skin was flushed and aglow. Again, he couldn't breathe, and a surge in his chest made him think he might just shoot there and then. Now she looked a little self conscious, at first wrapping her arms around herself, then dropping them to her sides, then bringing them up, hooking her hands together behind her head. He kept stroking, his cock fully erect now, his shaft a smooth curve that captured her gaze completely. "You're fucking... beautiful." His words were short on poetry, but the thick, passionate tone he spat them out with made her smile anyway. "I guess this is kind of flattering," she fiddled with her hair, "I've never given a strip-show while someone beat off before." She might have been blushing, he couldn't tell. Her eyes were on his cock as she experimented, striking poses and seeing how he responded, whether his strokes became faster or slower. "I'm... actually I hope this isn't freaking you out." He stopped stroking. "No, no! Please, seeing a guy playing with himself..." her pout, fighting a smile, "I like it." "I feel like we're being strangely honest with each other." "Right? It's kinda strange but probably... really good." She cupped her breasts, already cupped and supported by her striped bra. Looked down at herself, then up at him. "You want me to leave this stuff on?" "For now... hey..." she was approaching him, slowly, putting her curves to work, stalking her prey. "Hey, where you going?" "I see something," a low purr, he realised that his cock-stroking had been filling the room with a soft, wet soundtrack only as she reached him and pulled his hand away. "Something that I want..." "Fuck..." he was out of coolness now as she pushed more at his jeans and underwear, slipping them further down his thighs. Next was his jacket, but after she pushed it off his shoulders she only let fall halfway down his arms before she stopped it, trapping them behind him. She was so close and then she was swaying her hips and letting him trace sweeping lines of his slick cream across her belly, and then onto her panties. He watched the curve of his prick against the orderly black and white stripes and swallowed. "I was thinking something like this," she murmured, both of them looking down at how his naked manhood twitched and throbbed as she rubbed herself against it, "when I saw you in the store." "What a dirty thing to thing in ah... ah, a store." "I'm a dirty girl, what can I say?" She leaned in tight, trapping his tool and burning him with the heat of her naked skin. "What usually happens next in this kind of strip-show? I mean, we've already gone past the no touching rule." She raised her chin and caught him in a kiss. There was fire in his blood and he caught her lip between his teeth. She gave a slight squeal that tumbled into a giggle. "The dirty stripper girl should probably suck the guy's dick," he grinned as they broke apart, and she brought her hands down, resting them either side of his rigid shaft. "I was hoping you'd say that." Dropping to her haunches she bent her head over him and took him between her lips hungrily. He grunted at the soft, wetness that engulfed him. He felt her tongue playing him, playing with him. "Mmmff." "Oh my fuck." She sucked him, and he had to fight, focussing all his attention elsewhere to keep from just ejaculating, bucking and squirting into her mouth. She let him thrust in a little, let him fill her mouth and push his thick prick over her tongue to the back of her throat. He panted for breath, for composure and prayed that he wouldn't come yet. She came up off him with a pornographic gasp. "Like that?" He nodded. Her hands came into play now, taking his shaft firmly and pumping him as she nuzzled into him, at the base of his shaft, licking his balls, lifting them with the other hand and... oh fuck, sucking them between her lips one at a time. He watched her delicate fingers around his dark cock, watched how she worked him, heard the sounds and had to look away. It seemed that she would only speak to him when she had tasted every millimetre of his genitals. Finally her lips left him and he could breath again. Down at his waist she was pulling his member down now, and bringing his swollen head to her lips again, this time at an angle he could see. Those dark-framed glasses making her every action seem somehow playful and severe at the same time. Her lips made an O that made his cock jump and she laughed. Then she caught him, trapped his sensitive tip between the soft cushions of her lips and sucked him in. He watched himself vanish into her mouth, inch by inch, but she couldn't take his whole length. He wasn't complaining. God it was hot now! Was it him or just the heater doing its job? She tried to lift his meat with her tongue, but couldn't do much with it. Then suddenly, securing the base with her right hand, she started to bob her head swiftly and smoothly. She fucked him with her mouth. "Nnuh!" he hunched over. This was too good. She was too good. Her mouth was tight and wet and as he pushed to the back the pressure increased divinely. And he could see it all, every time his shaft slipped out - slicker and slicker with her saliva - every time it slid back in. And every now and then she'd let him all the way out and lavish the head of his cock with kisses and lollipop licks with her tongue. He couldn't hold out for long. "Mmm," he was out of her mouth now, a string of saliva or cum connecting her lower lip to his purple head. Looking up at him and smiling. "You're yummy." But when she bent her head to him again he slipped his jacket off completely and caught her. "Stop. Stand up. Lose the bra, lose the panties and put your hands on the wall." His voice had to fight to get out of his tight, twisted throat, but the tone was there. Commanding. She flinched and smiled at the same time. "Yes sir!" She was up on her feet and stepping away from him and both of them were stripping as fast as they could in the dry, freshly heated air. "I don't have a condom," he said, serious, "You?" She shook her head. "I'm... it's ok with me. I'm on the pill," she said, confident despite the hesitation. He hesitated too, but nodded, and lifted his tee. Neither could take their eyes off the other. He lost shoes, socks, jeans, t-shirt and stood lean and naked as the clasp of her bra yielded and her breasts swelled out. Large, purple nipples - hard even though it was warm now. Again there was no way he could stop himself, and as her panties reached her ankles he was up behind her. Close. His cock, slick and wet from her mouth nestled against her back as he cupped, squeezed and toyed with her soft, heavy tits. She was strong, she was in control, but still she whimpered as he played with her, sated his animal lust by groping and exploring her. Then his right hand shot down, skimming over the small rough patch of her bush and diving between her beautiful thighs, parting them and finding her hot, wet little slit. "Fuck! I was going to..." he laughed, "But you're fucking wet already!" "I...I'm sorry?" she sounded like she was blushing. What a gorgeously contradictory girl, he thought. "I get really - turned on sometimes." "No fucking fooling! Look at this..." his fingers came up into the light, not just glinting but shining. Coated, a string of her fluid hanging off his digits and heading for the floor. He went back in, split her again and this time smeared his bounty over her thighs. Next he drew circles around her nipples with her own cum. "Stop... stop, I'm getting embarrassed!" Her hands were hovering in the air, unsure whether to stop him or not. "You're getting embarrassed?" his voice rang with extreme scepticism. "You know I want to see you again after tonight, right?" The thought had come out of nowhere, hit his lips and escaped before he even knew it. "Of... of course." She twisted and looked up at him, frowning as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He kicked himself - the moment could have thrown them completely, ruined the atmosphere. But then his fingers were in her and this time he was fucking her. Two fingers slipping in and out while his hot cock rubbed and ground against the pliant curve of her backside. Her moans were high and soft and unguarded in a way she had rarely been up until then. He loved them, and he buried his face in her neck, savaging her with rough kisses. His fingers hot and wet with her cum, he moved his attention to her swelling clit. He rubbed it, made it prouder still and her knees buckled. "No... no I'll... I'll come. I want your cock in me." She broke free of his arms and took the last two steps to the wall, bending over, planting her hands flat against it and sticking out her spectacular, generous rear for him. He froze, his prick a diving rod pointing the way. Her socks a black and white striped staircase that still led up above her knees, pointing the way to where her puffy, pink pussy shone, dripping with her juices in the half light. "Please... fuck me." She looked back at him, spreading her legs wider, rising up onto the balls of her feet. How could he refuse. He moved to her and brought his shaft down, touching his wetness to hers for the first time. He didn't want to rush her, but it was she who moved first, leaning back impatiently and penetrating herself with just the head of his cock. They both gasped, they both swore. It felt amazing, astoundingly, impossibly right. And she was so ready, so that as he leaned into her and filled her, the sheath of her cunt was tight on him, but not too tight. It barely took any time at all for her to relax, to become accustomed to his invasion and to let him fuck her slow and deep. Neither of them said anything now. Or rather they spoke in sounds not words. His hands on her curves he kept up a series of long, low animal growls while her high, breathless gasps drove him to fuck her harder, deeper, faster. She arched her back, she offered herself to him, offered him as much as he wanted and he took it all. Suddenly he didn't feel like he was going to lose himself in her, he just wanted to keep savouring the way the tight, hot grip of her pussy held him - how it grabbed him and didn't want to let go, and when he thrust back in how it sucked him in almost hungrily. He shortened his thrusts and leaned over her, reaching under her and enjoying her swinging breasts once more as she found a new rhythm and ground against him. Their bodies were gleaming with perspiration now as the heater kept working, driving the heat in the room up more and more. He pinched her nipples and she squealed. She rolled her hips and he gasped as she clenched on him. Then one hand supported him on the wall and the other swooped over her belly and slipped and slid until it found her clit. She lost. "Nnnnfff!" she spat something though her teeth were sunk into her lower lip. He started fucking her again, and this time he knew he couldn't stop himself. He was going to come. This time it was inescapable. She agreed. "Gonna... gonna come... please..." "Please what?" His voice was gravel and grit. "No... not please... Thank you..." she sounded distant, but suddenly she was pulled back, savagely. "No, no... no way... I'm... Hhhnnngh! Hhhh... oh shit! Yes!" Her back arched again and he felt her whole body tighten and clench and he couldn't stop himself. Driving into her with speed and fury he took his hand off the wheel and let it happen. He looked down at her juicy ass, shuddering and shaking as he pounded into it. He looked up at how she had thrown her head back, her glasses having slipped down to the tip of her nose, threatening to fall off. And he felt her spasming on him, hot and wet and heavenly. And he came. "Holly!" he called her name, and in some way it felt strange. He didn't usually do that, didn't know what had driven him to do it this time. But then he lost the ability to reason anything out because he was hammering, thrusting, shooting into her. He felt his balls clenching as he spurted and pumped his essence deep inside her. Lost in her heat. Lost in her. "Come! Come inside me!" She was having to choke the words out - lost in her own world of pleasure just as he was. He couldn't do anything else, was already obeying her, and it went on and on, their bodies jerking and pounding. A symphony of gasps and grunts and groans and the sticky, wet sound of their bodies moving together. His prick twitched again, still up inside her as she regained her senses and started to chuckle, her breath catching. "Holy guacamole boy." "You can say that again," "I don't think I can..." He leaned back and with a disgustingly wet sucking noise his prick came free. "Oh my God, you're coming out of me..." "I just did." "No," she giggled, "you still are." He had stepped away and as he lowered his eyes to the gorgeous, cum-stained fuchsia of her pussy he saw what she meant. The thick white cream of his seed creeping out of her open cunt, onto her thighs, onto the floor. "I have, um... tissues in my coat pocket," she nodded to her puffy white coat, hung over the door, "Can you pass them?" "Ah," he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to join in her chuckling, so he just bit his tongue and passed her the tissues as she vanished awkwardly into the dark of the bathroom. He stood, hands behind his head, brain reeling, dizzy with happiness, and had still made no move to get dressed when the toilet flushed and she came back from the bathroom. "That's what I like to see," she leered, comically, "a naked boy waiting for me." She stepped up to him and pressed her own nude form against him. He wasn't spent, and as he felt those fucking socks brush his legs his prick twitched between them. "Was that...?" "Didn't you say you lived round here?" "Like, two minutes away," she was so cute looking up at him he wanted to throw her down in the dust right now and fuck her again. His dick responded alarmingly quickly. "Then why did we end up here?" he laughed, "Couldn't we have just gone back to your goddamn place?" "Keep thinking like that..." she touched his nose and her finger smelled wonderfully filthy, "and you'll never have crazy random sex in deserted apartments you've just broken into." He leaned down and kissed her. - - - It was as they were just finishing getting dressed (his half-mast pole proving pretty difficult to tuck away) that she suddenly yelped. "What?" He forced it down, buttoned his jeans uncomfortable over it. "How do we get back to the party?" She didn't look worried, just kind of amused and shocked. "It's going to look terrible for us to climb back around that barrier into a bunch of people!" He laughed too, leaning to peer out of the window. There did indeed seem to be quite the crowd out there now - escaping from the hot-house steam-room inside. "Wait, I have an idea." He led her into the hall, to the front door, and there, hanging down in front of the letterbox on a worn piece of string, was a key. "Lucky!" She grabbed his arm and squeezed. His cock pulsed and he winced a little. "Thank God for real estate agents huh? We can leave by the front door and lock up after ourselves." "And... go back into the other party?" The disappointment was plain in her voice. "Back to your place, stupid," he grinned, and watched her face perk up. "I am far from... uh, satisfied, and to leave me in this condition," he took her hand and placed it firmly on his troublesome bulge, "would be cruel and callous." "Oh, poor boy." Her smirk was nothing but the dirtiest, filthiest sins made flesh. "Let's go." - - - Out into the snow, no need for shelter, her apartment being two scant minutes from their party, then tumbling into each other's arms in the stairwell, lost in a kiss, two steps at a time, fumbling for the key, through her front door and into bed. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #02 Author's note: I know, I know - it doesn't seem much like a 'Part Two'. It will in the end, and all of these "One Night..." stories should work just as well on their own as they do in the series. Thanks for reading. - - - "There sure are a lot of people out tonight considering it's balls-ass cold." "Balls-ass cold. That's a lovely turn of phrase. Who fucking talks like that?" "Don't try and fucking talk down to me when you've got a cute little nose and that stupid... doggy stubble painted onto your face. Talking down is reserved for people who still have dignity." "Is that you?! Do you still have dignity? Really? Does it come with the 'King' costume that makes you look like a total ass?" It wasn't quite a blizzard, but there was definitely something stirring in the blackness above them. A wind with a few more teeth, a certain tone it hadn't carried before. "You know, I wish they'd sent that blonde who was working this corner last week." Regal gauntlets pushed shiny slips of paper into the reluctant, frozen fingers of pedestrians. Regal only in their adherence to an archetype - they were some form of leather-print nylon. "There was a dog I could really give a bone - if you know what I mean." The leer was most un-kingly. "Oh my God, I can't believe I'm going to freeze to death tonight with someone like you." Brown, furry, vaguely paw-like gloves shoved glossy sheets at the people passing on the opposite side. The animal gloves stretched up her slim arms like caramel coating, going up past her elbows. She was incredibly thankful for that on this bone-chilling night. "My last night on earth spent with the world's biggest jackass. Anyway, aren't you working for a burger bar?" "Why?" his grin was calculated to grate, "You hungry? You wanna flyer?" He was holding out the whole, bulging messenger bag that he had to hand out tonight. "I mean," pausing from her designated task - letting passers-by pass-by without forcing any of her own glossy slips on them, "The manager of your place wants to advertise his burger restaurant with some idiot dressed in a king costume." She paused, clicked her tongue, shivered. "Was his other idea a red and yellow clown?" "There's a totally original king character on our menus!" He was ignoring their targets too now, turning to face her, thrusting crumpled burger menus at her. The king certainly wasn't infringing any copyrights. Then again, it was hard to make out that it was a king - it looked more like Santa Claus. "What the fuck does your place have to do with puppies?" She looked down at her get-up and (to her immense disappointment and rage) had to admit that he had a point. The ridiculous 'Puppy-girl' outfit that she had to wear had no connection whatsoever to the bar she was flyering for. She had stupid floppy ears, long furry gloves, thigh-high furry socks, a white-trimmed skirt and a thick-furry hoodie. All in the same, generic, golden retriever caramel. With her nose painted a glossy, wet black, the overall impression was broadly that of a puppy - but only broadly. "You don't think it's cute?" She shot him a teasing smile and executed a neat half curtsey and twist, letting the skirt flare up a little. This chauvinist fucker could do with a little teasing. They were an island in the middle of a crowded sidewalk, garishly costumed and given the unenviable duty of handing out flyers to winter-time drinkers who would much rather keep their numb fingers firmly in their pockets. They had only been out for half an hour, both arriving at their designated spot at the same time, but already their own anti-freeze methods (hot-pads and thermal underwear) were starting to seem pretty skimpy in the face of a mean, muscular night. They were starting to attract more attention for the obvious spat that was going on than for their outfits. Possibly the outfits amplified the eye-catching effect of a face to face argument in the middle of the sidewalk, possibly the argument made their ridiculous clothes seem all the more apparent. People were giving them both space and smirks now. "Cute... whatever..." she had him tongue-tied, she grinned. "I guess it must be nice to just be able to hike your skirt whenever you're on heat though, right?" "Fuck off." She pivoted on the heel of a well-worn sneaker and turned back to the crowds, cheeks hot and scarlet from something she couldn't quite place. "Oh, that's wit. Real canine wit there." They didn't talk for a few minutes, icy dispositions matching the freezing night air. The wind now was a bladed, edged weapon and the snow was getting thicker as the crowds got thinner. The nastiest, most cutting gust brought a convincingly puppy-like yell from her, and another un-kingly curse from him. "I want to be the guy who works for that sushi place across town." He didn't look across, but his tone had some kind of reconciliation in it. She waited a couple of beats and bit. "How come?" "Fucker's in a full-body, furry fish suit. That stuff's thick as all hell - I'm sure he's doing just fine tonight." The crowds really were thinning out, the lights and signs around them were taking on a weird, dreamy, gauzy shimmer. She couldn't feel her fingers. She let the few pedestrians that were struggling along pass unmolested. Her arms were wrapped around herself now - that was more important than giving out fucking flyers. "But imagine how he feels in the summer." She had wanted to giggle to follow that up, but it came out as a kind of chattering groan. "If I'm still doing this next summer I think I'll kill myself." His tone was sour, but the bile wasn't aimed her way. He thrust his flyers carelessly back into his bag and hefted it, resettling it on his shoulder. "Excuse my crudity," he had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind, and fired off half a smile that caught her by surprise - made her reconsider him, "but fuck this. I don't wanna lose my fingers for this paycheque. Do you drink?" - - - "Are you two... part of the... show?" The clumsily tattooed guy behind the bar was squinting at them as if he had half a clue what was going on. The soft, dull thump of a heavily amplified bass line pulsed through the ceiling from upstairs. Otherwise the bar (his choice) was quiet and half empty. Not that she felt all that self-conscious about being dressed as a puppy and getting a drink - the freezing conditions they were fleeing made it so that the only thing she was thinking about at that moment was getting warm. "Show...?" She made a face, curling her lip, hesitating by the door. "I have no fucking clue what you're talking about dude." She had paused but he had steamed straight in, hardly even glancing at Sketchy-Tattoo-Guy. "No show, just two beers over here." "Thank Christ," Tats started pulling beers, "I thought things were gonna get really freaky up there." Oh, some private party upstairs - her brain was thawing and she joined the King at the bar, dusting snow off herself before it melted and matted the cheap, synthetic fur. "You guys were out in this?" beers went one way, money the other. The King paid. "Could be that even in a blizzard people need to know where to buy a shitty burger." Tats nodded and left them to their beers, moving on to another customer a few seats down the small bar. The beer was cold, but she was almost back up to a healthy temperature so it felt refreshing more than anything. "What if I hadn't wanted a beer?" She kept going to rub her nose, her skin was tingling as it warmed up, but she had to catch herself before she smudged her stupid, shiny black make-up. She expected a snide, callous comeback. "Oh man, I didn't think. My brain is still half frozen, sorry." He wasn't looking at her still - he'd hunched straight into a kind of foetal lean over the bar and he was squinting at the bottles lined up behind the bar. He didn't seem to be paying her much attention, but the contrition in his voice caught her by surprise. "No, no. Beer's good." "Oh, cool." He glanced at her for a second, then started looking around the bar. He certainly wasn't much for charm, but she started to think that the asshole he had been out on the corner was almost an act. She liked his unshaven jaw and the way it joined with his lean neck at such a sharp angle. Without the plastic crown he had an endearingly messy tangle of chestnut hair too. She pinched her thigh through her furry skirt - stop staring. A couple left the bar, leaving only them and two other small groups of drinkers. She had finished half her beer before she felt human enough to speak again. He beat her to it anyway. "Listen I'm sorry about some of that shit earlier," again, half a smile and a sideways glance, "I mean, the stuff about that other girl. It was nasty. I had a crappy day and... someone giving me shit brought out the worst in me." "Wow, is that... regret?" She liked his face and she was willing to concede he wasn't the jackass she had met out on the corner, but she wasn't completely sold yet. So far it was easy to keep sniping at him, not really caring what he thought. "Yeah," he chuckled and raised his beer to his lips, "Yeah it was. Eat it up because you won't get much more out of me." "I don't know, I already got a beer," she raised her own glass, "I'm sure you're not finished paying out yet." "Jeff," half a smile and an outstretched hand. "Marcie." - - - When the door opened (which it blessedly seldom did) they got a sharp, toothy reminder not to go back out there for a good while yet. Their best plan of action for the night was to prop up the bar, help the inked-up barkeep dispose of his beer, and then apologise to their respective bosses tomorrow. The weather was truly exceptional. Her puppy ears, his 'gown' and two pairs of novelty gloves were folded neatly on a stool to her left. More beer had been drunk then they had moved on to stronger booze in smaller glasses. And at some point in the middle of all of this he had actually stopped the perpetually distracted flake act and devoted all his attention to her. They sat angled towards each other, their knees touching. And still, if she was brutally honest, he was kind of a jerk. They talked about a lot of things and he was smart, interesting and funny. But every now and then there was an off-hand, smart-assed dismissal that made him seem - for want of a better word - spiteful. Then again, excessive smart-assery was something she was frequently accused of herself. But the sharp, bitter edges began to blur after a while, like they do with any flawed friend whose virtues outweigh their vices, and she found herself tracing the line of his jaw with her eyes again and again while he was talking. It got hotter (or she did) and she unzipped the puppy-hoodie more than half-way without thinking. Guiding the zipper over the curve of her chest quickly, she found it was enough, she was cooling down again, but suddenly he was paying a lot more attention. It took her a moment to realise that the clinging thermal top she was wearing under the faux-fur hoodie was really accentuating the swell of her breasts, clinging all the way around, to the underside of her bra. She honestly hadn't intended this to have any effect - but she made no move to zip it back up or cover herself. It wasn't like there was any skin showing. There were other people in the bar, but the alcohol made them seem so very distant. When the small group from one of the booths left, they took a bottle and made some unspoken decision to take their place. The booth was at the back of the bar, away from the distracting chills of the door and he made something of a fuss of struggling out of one thin layer, so that he was down to his plain blue t-shirt. She licked her lips, telling herself she was checking for... booze... or something. His slim, lithe torso was easily accessible to her hungry eyes in a t-shirt that tight. She pushed off her hoodie and leaned forwards in just the thermal top, so very aware of the shape of her body as he would see it; slender and petite, but not without curves. She brushed her dark bangs out of her face for the millionth time (one thing about the doggy ears, they did help her keep things under control) and tucked the rest of her hair behind her ears. They were talking all the time but she was damned if she knew what about. Some sarcastic animal instinct kept supplying her with comebacks and one-liners that kept him chuckling, and as long as he was laughing and making her laugh and she could rest her ankle against his calf under the table... Oh... wait. Hold on. When had that started? She was absolutely sure that their legs hadn't been touching a moment ago, but now that they were... Well surely it would seem rude to just pull away? Right? She moved and he moved, but neither of them moved away. She felt his jeans (very anachronistic, not at all kingly, as she had pointed out when talk had returned to costumes) dragging over her high, furry socks. Mmm, friction. He was tugging at his tee in a random, distracted way. She liked it, the way it stretched away from his body only to spring back, desperate still to cling to him. "Our bottle," he spaced his words carefully, "will soon be empty." "Let's..." she was going to suggest another trip to the bar, but looking over they saw that its keeper had deserted his post. Checking on the party upstairs perhaps? The music still made itself felt, thumping gently through the ceiling. "Oh, there's no-one there to give us any more liquor." She pouted, and saw his grin was infinitely easier and more natural than it had been before. "Listen to you - 'liquor' - what is this, a speakeasy?" "It could be - an illicit liquor den on the wrong side of town." She defended herself with a shrug. "Just the place for a king and his puppy to hide out." It slipped out, but he was still sharp enough not to let it go. "'His' puppy?" "I didn't say 'his'..." "Yes you did." He was standing up now, shuffling sideways out of his seat. "I tell you what, I'm going to hit the head. I'll obtain further 'moonshine' on the way back." "I didn't..." "And y'know - in a way - if you're my puppy that would also make you... my bitch." His tone deviously matter of fact, his grin utterly innocent as he turned and made his way to the door that led to the toilets. When she stood up she realised that she was drunker than she had previously thought. It took a little concentration to manoeuvre out of the booth. And she was half way across the floor, following him (of course she was following him) before she thought to glance at the front of the bar, to see who was watching. No-one was. She wasn't entirely sure why she was following him, after all, she didn't need the bathroom. But she was following, leaving their coats and bags unattended in the booth behind her. She watched the door swing shut behind his skinny, denim-wrapped ass and wondered if her judgement was impaired. If she was sober enough to wonder if her judgement was impaired - that probably meant that her judgement wasn't impaired... didn't it? She pulled the door open. There was a short, cramped corridor with three doors, respectively marked for ladies, gentlemen and staff (still churning with the need to crack jokes and impress him she wanted to come out with a - 'What, so they only hire hermaphrodites here?' joke, but bit her tongue since he was already in the men's room). She leaned on the ladies' room door, and screwed her eyes up. She wasn't too drunk was she? Whatever she was doing there (she still didn't know) was what she wanted to do, she was sure of that. She wanted to do him, but the full formulation of that thought made her cheeks flush, hot and red, as if she had only just come in from the cold. And as she tried her best to think things through, panic set in. It passed, but for a moment she was frozen - what if she was misreading this whole thing? What if he wasn't interested at all? The sound of him relieving himself rattled and rang and finally tailed off. There was a flush, a few more seconds for her to wonder (as if it weren't even her there in that crappy little corridor) what she was doing there, and then he was out there with her, looking at her - her back to the bathroom door, looking at him. "Oh, hey. Occupied?" He was still buttoning his jeans, she watched him do it as she shook her head. "Then... uh...?" "You're kind of an asshole." His posture relaxed just a little, he still seemed a touch on edge as he frowned and smiled at her. "Wait a second..." he laughed, "Are you trying to insult me and hit on me at the same time?" "Isn't that how you would do it?" She pushed herself away from the door, and as if mirroring her he took a step forwards too. He was taller than her, but not much. "I guess I would," half a smile, "I mean, I'm having to fight spitting out another crack about you being on heat right now." Thumbs hooked into his belt loops like some kind of hipster cowboy he swaggered another step closer. She twisted her fingers together behind her back, finding a little of the coyness that had gone AWOL when she came in here. "But..." angling her head just a little, looking up at him, "Is it really a joke if it's true?" So close now - less than an arm's length away. The drum beat from the room upstairs was a soundtrack of some kind. He had stopped, daring her to cover the last bit of ground. Screw him, she'd done her part. Now it was time to see if he was in. She looked away, to the side, knew that his eyes were on her chest where she was shameless pushing her fantastic breasts (she had no qualms about calling her own tits great - they were) out for his delectation. She pouted again, because she couldn't think of anything else to do. "Y'know..." he was moving, "what's really, really fucking hot?" "I have no -" skinny, cynical, unshaved indie boys in tight jeans and even tighter t-shirts "- idea." "Nasty, funny girls..." his hands touched her hips, brushed gently over the soft, fake fur, "... who've forgotten that they're wearing ridiculous face paint." Her eyes opened in shock - she had totally forgotten. But in the split second that she found her self reeling he had leaned in and taken her lips with a long, violent kiss - lips and tongue and teeth in just the right amounts. When he pulled away her nose had left a short black smear across his cheek. "Asshole." "Bitch." He grinned. "Referring of course to your... oh, woah!" It was only two steps he stumbled backwards as she shoved him, but he was actually panicking for a second. Then his back hit the wall, then she heaved open the door marked 'Staff' and then she bundled him inside. "Holy f-" her lips hit his, and her hands gripped the waistband of his jeans. She was dimly aware of boxes stacked on boxes, surrounding them and making a tiny room even smaller, but she really didn't care about the setting at all. His fingers were in her hair, his stubble scraping her chin. She wrestled his tongue into submission. "Chicks dig jerks," she gasped as their mouths finally separated. The music was faint in here, and the air was cooler. It didn't matter, they were generating their own heat now. "Lucky me." His hands were out of her hair and pulling up her tight top before she knew it. Then again, she was oblivious to a lot of things - she didn't realise she was stroking the growing bulge in his jeans until the nerve sensations from her fingertips hit her brain. She was kind of glad her auto-pilot was working so well. "We should be quick," she whispered, exhausting her reserves of common sense as his hands agreed with her. In a moment she was feeling the clinging thermal fabric leaving her arms, slipping up, being tossed away onto a box in the corner - then she felt his eyes on her, licking like a tongue over the swell of her cleavage, her black bra. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #02 He pulled away, stepped back, and she saw that someone (she assumed it had been her) had already unclasped his belt and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his jeans. Tight jeans, so the shape of his prick was easy to make out. Half-hard and straining to be free. It would be cruel to keep it locked up like that any longer. She wanted to help out with that, but he was pinning her in place with an expectant smirk. An asshole's smirk. But she was happy to play along, reaching back and unclasping then turning to one side as she slowly, teasingly let her bra fall forwards, away from the sweet curve that it had been supporting. She kept her arms crossed over her nipples for a moment, coquettish, glancing up at him with a giggle painted on her lips, then she brought her arms down, hooking her thumbs into the waist band of the furry skirt. "Woof, woof." He stroked himself through his jeans as he watched her turn, and she felt jealous of his hand. She looked down at her breasts, felt that little charge of vanity again - they weren't huge but they looked big on her slight frame and her nipples were obediently dark and pert in the stockroom's chill air. "Bow wow," she shot back, "Your turn to get topless, stud." He crossed his arms and pulled his tee over his head like a model in a soft drink commercial, and as she saw the muscles on his side stretch, she knew that this was absolutely the best possible thing she could be doing. She tingled, knew it wasn't the alcohol, shifted her thighs together and felt herself responding. She was up close when he freed himself from the thin cotton garment, popping the last few buttons of his jeans, and letting him reach out, cup and caress her breasts. Fuck, but that distracted her. His hands were good - stroking, circling, pinching ever-so gently - and her hands trembled as she tugged the fly of his pants wide open. She was almost there, the prize almost hers. But there was someone panting, gasping, moaning, in there with them, distracting her from her mission. Oh, of course - that was her. "Little doggy getting all worked up?" He grinned, and tugged at her nipples, almost as if he were trying to pull her off balance. But the smile she flashed back had him beat. "You missed your chance," her left hand slipped inside, just as her right hand grabbed the waistband and yanked his boxers down. She had him, hard, hot, twitching in her tight grip, exposed to the world of the stockroom. She watched his pupils dilate, heard the sharp intake of breath as she seized him, then gave it a beat: "Little doggy wants a bone." His prick was a nice size - perfectly in proportion with his tall, lean shape, it wasn't too big or too small. And it had girth - delightful width as she held it, squeezed it, coaxed it harder still. "F-fuck." His hands had left her breasts now, flying back to grab boxes for support as she pushed his jeans down too to give her room to work. Then both hands were on him. She cupped his balls, tracing the outline of one, then the other, as she gave him a long, slow, tight pump. "Oh, shit..." "It's not really a case of 'cat got your tongue' is it?" Her voice, nevertheless, was a low, feline purr. "Fuck, you're good." He was torn, his eyes flicking between her full, bare breasts, her cute, black-smeared face, and her commanding hands on his dick. "Well... thanks." "And you're so fucking cute." He found the willpower to move, leaning forwards only for a second to plant a brief, hot kiss on her lips. "Mmmm, actually..." a stupid, petty scheme swam into focus in her mind and she thought - why not? She tugged on his prick and now it was getting so hard that it was resisting her commands. It wanted to jut up, bold and proud; it wanted to sink itself into a hot, moist pussy. She didn't know if that would happen, but she wanted to have more fun either way first. With one hand pressing him down, pointing his prick forwards, she lifted the cheap, furry skirt she was wearing with the other. As her boy-shorts came into view she wished, wished, wished that she'd worn something sexier today. They were cute, they were practical, they weren't sexy. Still, she could work with it. She ran the heel of her palm across the crimson head of his manhood and smiled to feel it slick, wet and sticky. "You little slut, you're already wet." "Fuck y-" "Don't worry," dropping her voice to a whisper, "so am I." Then she leaned forwards and drew with him, traced the hot, cum-slick head of his prick against the grey cotton of her underwear, down into the valley between her thighs, leaving a dark smear of his cream and pressing his insistent hardness against the soft, wet cleft that was hiding behind the fabric there. She was in command but she didn't sound like it, letting out a soft, desperate whine as she pressed him against her. He didn't have any words for that, just a choking, grunting growl that seemed to reverberate down through his chest, through his abdomen and through his crotch and his cock and right into her cunt. She almost felt her lips parting of their own accord, begging to be filled by his shaft. She fought for control. She swept him back up, his cock-head still wet and gleaming in the dim light of the 40 watt bulb above them. And she kept pulling him, wiping him up over the waistband of her shorts and onto the rough underside of her skirt. She felt the friction through his cock and he winced. "Hey..." "Sorry, just needed that sticky cum." She giggled as she wiped him onto the skirt again, more gently this time. She saw the pearly cream clearly now, a thin trace on the reverse of the cheap synthetic fur. "What are you doing?" He was asking with a smile: as long as her slender, sweet fingers were gripping him, working him, he really didn't care what she was doing. "Well," she leaned away, letting the skirt slip back down now and putting both hands on his shaft - jerking him slow and firm. She spoke only to his prick, looking down at the perfect curve of it as it throbbed between her fingers. "You mentioned the blonde who was out last week?" "Uh-huh..." His breathing was laboured, he was trying to concentrate. "Well, she'll be out next week too. In this outfit." "Shit..." She wasn't sure if he was swearing because of her story, or what she was doing to him. She stroked away from her, pushing back the sensitive skin of his dick until he whimpered, the head purpling now and still shining with boy-juice. "And she's kind of a bitch. To me. Most of the time." Her sentences were broken too, her attention more and more attached to his prick. "I just wanted to leave her a little present inside this skirt." She was halfway to her knees now, and she paused in an awkward squat. "You really are kind of a bitch," he was saying when she touched the hot, head of his member to her left nipple, leaving a shining smear behind. "Holy fuck!" That exclamation broke into a joyous chuckle as she bent it to his left and wiped him onto her right nipple. "Now who's the doggie marking his territory?" she taunted as she finished her descent. She tugged his pants and underwear further down his thighs and inspected him. She bent his prick back against his belly and explored his balls. She stroked the soft, small bush of pubic hair that surrounded his genitals, from which his fat, hard shaft emerged. She groped him and he let her. She didn't look up - just imagined him looking down at her working him, kneeling before him, tits out - and she knew she had him. He was quite the jerk, but he was yielding to her now. Leaning in, she smelled him, a raw, male scent that connected with something in her head, and between her spread thighs, she felt her cunt getting wetter still. She couldn't resist for much longer and she let her head move dreamily - tracing his cum onto her lips like lipstick - then she swallowed him. The way his prick bucked when she first took him into her mouth was so violent that for a second she thought he was going to come straight away. His hard, purple head hit the roof of her mouth, leaping off her tongue and she gagged, closing her lips around him and holding him still. But he didn't come, his penis was just more jumpy - more active than most. She took him in as far as was comfortable, letting his hot length cover her tongue, press it down; letting him enjoy the tight, moist chamber of her mouth, and she thought about her needs. She was horny, truly a bitch on heat now, but she could live with just satisfying his desires... as long as she got his number. As long as she could get this delicious shaft inside her properly when they were better prepared. "Fuck, you're good at that." She controlled him still, working the base of him with her hand as she started lavishing attention on his head and the rest of his length. He tasted good, it wasn't really a hardship for her. "Good doggy." He was still full of it then. She let him feel her teeth and he quickly yelped an apology. She moved on him faster, bobbing her head, pumping with her hand. Feeling his cock-head wetten with more sweet cum that she tasted and savoured as she pulled off him and stroked him with her tongue. His gasps and curses above her told her how well she was doing. When his hand touched her forehead, slowing her, stopping her, it came as a surprise. "What?" She had to swallow the thick pre-cum that he had already given her. "You're gonna make me fuckin'... fuckin' come! I don't want to yet." "It's cool," she gave him a drowsy, aroused smile, "I don't mind you... y'know, coming in my mouth." Saying the words worked on her violently, a potent aphrodisiac, her pussy tingled in complaint. "I don't want to do anything stupid, and we don't have a..." She fell silent. There, gleaming in his fingers, accompanied by a surprisingly sheepish smile, the perfect square of a condom. "What kind of jerk carries a condom around all the time?" She asked, when her heart-rate had dropped to an acceptable level. The surge of adrenaline (fuck, she was going to fuck this guy in the backroom of a bar) had been incredible. "I... actually, I know. It's kind of an asshole thing to do right?" She released him, and his cock bobbed free from her influence for the first time in quite a while. "In fact I... uh... I've been doing it since I was like eighteen. And... I've never once used any condoms I've brought with me 'just in case'. It's become kind of a personal joke..." he tailed off. "Until tonight?" She straightened up. "Wait, that's not the same condom from when you were..." "No! No. I have actually had sex since then. Just never... y'know, instant, surprise sex." "Instant surprise sex?" As she spoke, once again she watched him watching her. She brought her legs together neatly and slipped her hands under that stupid puppy skirt on both sides - lifting it up until she could hook her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear. She kicked her sneakers off and bent at the waist as she pushed the shorts down. She could tell how wet she was: very. "Is that what this is? Surprise sex?" "Wouldn't you say?" He was still following her lead, waiting to see what she would do. She stepped out of her underwear, swung her hips to her left in a cute pose and brazenly lifted the front of her skirt for him. She saw him swallow. His eyes were locked on the trimmed strip of her bush, on the swollen, pink, glistening lips of her pussy. She saw his manhood leap again, just as it had when she had swallowed it. Would it do that when he plunged it into her? God, she couldn't wait for him to put that thing into her. She looked around and there it was, perfect. She stepped back and hopped her pantiless, skirt-clad ass up onto a stack of boxes that looked to be the perfect height. She shuffled herself onto it, lifted her skirt again, and spread her legs wide for him. She was there, exposed, waiting for him. And as he watched, the condom still clutched dumbly in his hand, she reached down with the hand that wasn't holding her skirt up and touched herself. She stroked the tight opening of her pussy and found it wasn't all that tight at all. It was soft, hot, so sensitive and it opened as soon as she caressed it. Her finger slipped inside with a tiny, wet sound. She slid it out and made a perfect, upside down V of her fore and index fingers. She split herself open for him. He couldn't get a clearer invitation than that. He came towards her, half cocky asshole, and half co-conspirator in this insane, secret adventure. He ripped the red, metallic envelope open, slipped the condom out and made no mistake in unrolling it onto his twitching, pulsing prick. She could feel him inside her already, it was so close now. "So you can stand me enough to fuck me?" He said when they were face to face, when his cock was mere inches away, pointing straight to the wet (so, so wet) hungry lips that awaited it. She half thought about it, about how - more and more - it seemed like his arrogance and cynicism was a mask that he'd been wearing for so long it had become his real face. Mostly, though, she was thinking about his cock. "I think I can stand you just fine." She smiled, reached down, curled her fingers around the base of him, feeling the soft hair down there once more. "Now fuck me." She guided him, he moved, and they both looked down as his head touched the vulnerable folds of her pussy. They had no cynical banter now, the sensations that gripped them made such cheap bullshit seem childish. They just, both of them, wanted to fuck. She helped him, opened herself and guided him inside just the littlest bit. She bit her lip, whimpered, her other hand a fist, bunching up the fabric of her skirt. Then he moved his hips, thrust, and slowly, firmly, filled her. "Ohshityes!" "Holy fuck..." She didn't want to move, couldn't really on her perch of boxes. So it was up to him. Up to him to thrust... to make her moan, penetrating her until she was too tight for him to move, and then to pull out. She loved thick pricks like his, loved feeling them as they forced her lips wide open and loved feeling them as they slipped in and out of her. There was playful teasing in the way he pulled almost all the way out, letting her feel the round tapering head of his prick between her labia, before he thrust back in again. And she begged for it with such a cute, broken gasp that she knew he'd do the same thing again. He did, he teased her, made her pant, made her beg, wordlessly, for his dick. And every long, slow stroke he made into her relaxed her more and more. She let him take her, brought her free hand up to support herself on his shoulder as his hands firmly took her taught thighs just above the high, furry socks and lifted them up to make sure their angle was perfect. He stroked. He thrust in. He filled her and she felt it in her toes and her fingertips. She had become so infernally horny that the powerful swells of pleasure she rose on as he fucked her were good, but felt like they might never be enough to satisfy the terrible need that had built up between her thighs. She started with the real language of sex now: short, high moans, half spoken curses and panting entreaties for him to keep going - just like that - deeper - and, and harder now - fuck his cock felt so good - He didn't even have that many words. He came out with grunts and growls that seemed too deep for his skinny body to produce. She felt him getting faster, a split second before she was going to beg him to do that very thing. He fucked with his hips and she loved it. She was so wet now that the sloppy, wet sounds he was forcing her to make were clearly audible over the lazy thump of the drumbeat from upstairs. He gave a sudden, single, fierce thrust, and his prick stretched her wide open. She gave a short sharp, embarrassingly canine bark. "Shit... that was..." she panted, he paused, rocking her but no longer sliding in and out. "Again?" She looked up at him, biting her lip, and nodded nervously. He pulled out, slower than ever and just when she thought he was almost certainly about to slip out completely, he rushed back in with a violence that left her tingling, trembling, shaking. Then he was fucking her again, and now they found the perfect rhythm. He was penetrating and withdrawing so sweetly, so smoothly, and at the perfect speed, the bottles hidden in the boxes around them rattling as they started to get more and more physical, as he heaved her up against them, just rutting into her now, splitting her cunt again and again, making her lose all sense of volume as she just squealed and hung onto his neck for dear life. "Shit! Shit yes! Fuck me like that!" But she was greedy and finally she forced her skirt-holding hand into action, letting the fabric fall down, covering the sight of their wet, messy fucking - but only for a second. A moment letter she pushed it back with her wrist and sent her fingers to find her clit in the mess of cum and sweat down there. "Holy hell, Marcie-Puppy," he laughed, "I can't keep this up for much longer." "Fuckin'" she panted, her head on his shoulder, her eyes screwed tight shut as his hips slammed into her again and again, sinking so deep now, fuck she was going to be sore after this wasn't she? But she wasn't now. "Fucking don't come yet, asshole." "When you say that," his breathing was just as laboured, "it almost sounds sweet." "Hnngh!" her shoulders drew up tight as she pinched herself just a little to sharply. "I... I'm close too." She couldn't hear his answer. Couldn't hear anything except the pornographic sucking, slurp of his cock as he penetrated her, as he took her, again and again. Her fingers flickering back and forth over her clit, his prick not slowing, his lithe hips working tirelessly to keep her gasping, begging, on the verge of... on the verge of... He came first, she knew, just like the asshole he was. But it must've been close to a photo finish. "OH! Fuck!" A rough, guttural exclamation and she felt him, bucking hard, so hard she almost laughed as her pussy clenched around him - holding him and milking him. She almost laughed but she couldn't because then her mind was wiped clean. The feeling of him twitching, spurting, filling his condom and just how fucking deep inside her he was and her fingers on her fucking clit and how perfectly he'd been fucking her... She hunched over, she bit his bare, skinny shoulder until he howled, and she screamed into him. The swelling waves of pleasure had been getting bigger and bigger, and when he came, they went tidal. She couldn't see. How could she ever have doubted that she wouldn't be satisfied? When she came back from wherever it was she had been washed to she was sweating and heaving, trying to breathe. She wasn't biting him anymore, her brow was back on his shoulder, but her other hand was gripping him like a vice on the other side. She opened her eyes wide, felt like asking what year it was. A sharp cardboard corner bit into her naked back, and she felt how fucking wet she was and realised that there was a lot more of her cum on the bar's skirt than there was of his. "Holy. Fucking. Ow." She looked up at the red semi-circle on his shoulder. A perfect imprint of her dental work. "Wow, I really bit you." "Yeah! Yeah, you fuckin' did! If I hadn't just come in that tight fucking pussy I'd be pretty pissed off right now!" He started pulling out, and for a second she thought she was going to stop him. She just wanted to feel it inside for a second more. When he was out he stepped back and they both looked. He had really filled the condom. The boxes weren't at all comfortable to fall back against, but she couldn't support herself. "Sorry about the teeth... but wow. That was... fucking...." "Right?" For once there was no trace of the asshole at all in his toothy grin. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #02 "So...?" She forced herself to hop down. It took her a moment to locate her various discarded garments and to brush the dust of the stockroom off them. "Aha!" He tore open the packet of napkins he had located and wrapped the full condom in a couple. "I'm not enough of an asshole to leave this in the corner for someone to find." "Oh, I'm sure you are. Hey, can I have a few of those?" "Oh really? Messy girl?" "Well - I mean, getting a little cum on the bar's skirt is one thing, but I think I... you made me soak the damn thing." - - - Back out in the bar, the skirt wiped and blotted, but still damp on the back of her thighs, wet with her own juices. Past their clocking off time now, and with what looked like the worst of the storm over, and conversation struck to a post-coital low. The barman reappeared two minutes after they did, no-one seemed any the wiser. It would have been a Christmas miracle, but that was last month. "Well, that was a lot more fun than giving shitty pieces of paper to people who don't want them." "I'll say." He watched her zip her furry hoodie back up over the amazing tits that she had wiped his seed onto. "Hey, I... I'm not an asshole all the time." "I'm sure you're not," she said, a puzzled frown on her face as she stuffed the stupid puppy ears into her bag and straightened out her gloves. "I mean - you should meet me again." "I should?" She smiled. He was back to not looking at her, not making eye contact, looking at the front window, too cool for school. But he couldn't keep it up, he kept glancing at her to gauge her reaction. "You don't think? Well..." "Such an asshole," she shook her head, "Of course I want to meet you again, jerk." Only half a smile, but he couldn't keep the warmth out of it. They wrote their numbers on the back of their respective flyers with a ballpoint that they borrowed from the tattooed barman. Outside it was vindictively cold, and the wind assaulted them as if sore over the vanishing act they'd pulled earlier. They didn't kiss when they said goodbye, and it turned out that they were heading in opposite directions from the moment they stepped out of the door. But in the tight-lipped, smart-assed smiles they both sent the other's way was the kind of genuine affection that burns cynicism to dust. She turned the corner, heading for the station, her skirt sticking to the back of her legs, and she smiled. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #03 The door to the bathroom crashed open and he felt a warm, comforting breath touch his neck. Then it was gone, as the door slammed shut and then - THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. She was putting all of her weight in her heels and he pitied the poor sap living downstairs. First he had to put up with the creaking, the groaning, the classic old rattling headboard, and now he had to deal with this. The window rattled, and he didn't know if it was the spiteful winter wind - or just her. She shot past him, storming behind the sofa he was slumped into and making straight for her room. What had, of course, previously been their room, but was now her room. He didn't bother looking back at her, and she didn't waste a word on him. Until she reached her door. "Where are you going?" "What?" He changed the channel, played dumb, made her work. "You're wearing your good jeans. Are you going out?" Now he turned, now he twisted and looked back at her. How should he look at her now? Should he enjoy the view, parts of her still sparkling with moisture from the shower, her perfect legs disappearing up into that short, fluffy robe (that he had bought for her)? He watched her towelling her hair for a moment, took in the hard, cold mask that both of them had been wearing for two weeks now, and didn't know what to feel. "I have a date," he said. He turned back to face the TV. "Jay, you knew I had a date tonight." On the TV a group of people with very strange hairstyles were gathered around a map of some peninsular. The tall thin window showed the faint interference of a light snow playing against the rich purple of the evening sky. It rattled again. Their apartment was drafty; in winter they cranked the heating up and kept it up. "Well, yes. But what the hell, Nat?" He didn't turn, but his shoulders rose and tensed. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" "It's pathetic - this trying to one-up me. Pathetic, Jay." He had a retort: it was on his lips, loaded and ready to fire, but he heard the bedroom door slam first. Maybe that was the problem; both of them always had a response to every insult, every allegation, every slur. Sometimes they had to lie, sometimes they had to get really nasty to get their retaliation off the ground but so what? It was all about getting the last word in. The window rattled and he looked at it, then through it, for a long time. After a while he noticed that the very corner of his face was being reflected back at him, and that the sour, hard mask had yet to come off. He took his feet off the table and leaned forwards, shoulders still hunched as he rubbed his face trying to loosen it up. If he was perfectly honest with himself (and he was trying to be, he really was) he wasn't all that interested in going on a date tonight. Every day was a pain in the goddamned ass, every conversation was a battle, and he just wanted to get away and spend some time not thinking about him and Nat. Everyone he knew, knew what was going on between him and Nat, and that, apparently, was all they wanted to talk about. He should move out, they told him, and he knew he should. But every time he reached this rational, noble conclusion, he thought about all the shit he'd sacrificed for her over the years and thought - well, why should I be the one to move out? He realised that she was having exactly the same conversations with her friends, going through exactly the same process, and that kept them - two weeks after the spectacular break-up - still living in the same, small, shitty one bedroom apartment. They made it work by working as long and as hard as possible, lingering and malingering in bars and coffee shops, and also by sheer dint of their own bitter, self-entitled wills. Is it a universal truth that people who are so well matched when it all starts out end up locked into this kind of savage hate-pact? Well, neither of their dates that night were going to be having fun, he thought with sadly characteristic schadenfreude. He looked up. It was Korea they were talking about on TV. Well, in the end he had lost. He'd booked a ticket back where he came from, and he'd mailed his mother two days ago that he'd be going back for a while. Nat would gloat, but he... well, hopefully this was the start of him learning. Life lessons and all that horrible, horrible Hollywood bullshit. For a moment he forgot the girl's name, and he almost smiled at what an asshole he was. Then again, who was the bigger jerk: him, or his buddy whose friend she was? Eddie was the one who was setting her up; a lamb for the emotional slaughter that he must know was going to ensue. It was nice of him to try and break Jay out of his funk but... poor girl. She wasn't going to know what hit her. The door opened behind him with a click. Not a bang, a click. He still didn't bother turning. "Who is she?" "Friend of a friend of Eddie's." He didn't turn because the mask had come off and he didn't want her to see how fucking tired he was. "A friend of Sally's?" "I don't know," and he couldn't stop the sigh escaping this time, "he asked me to take her out." There was a pause. That was okay, he was getting very good at awkward pauses. You just turned your feelings off for the duration of each one, and back on again when the conversation restarted and the knives came out. "Don't you want to know about mine?" "Not really," every time he spoke he had to analyse his intonation to make sure it wouldn't spark her off in some way. Was it because he couldn't take the rant, or because he actually, still, didn't want to hurt her? Was she doing the same thing? "I-" she started, and instantly stopped. He tried not to think of anything. When you laid out the issues that they'd had, the cuts that had separated them, it was all bullshit. But they'd been together so long that the bullshit had gained weight. It was some kind of quantum momentum of relationships deal that was beyond him. He tried to understand what they were saying about Korea on the TV. "Jay, I'm going back to my Mom's place next week." Now he turned, and he didn't bother with the mask. He saw that she wasn't wearing hers either. "Just for a week or so, but..." "Me too," he butted in. He felt that this time she wouldn't snarl and spit and curse him for it. "Oh!" That was genuine surprise. "Well, I just thought that, y'know..." She paused and he realised she was wearing that crazy plaid mini-dress thing. His mind went in three different directions at once - 'she knows I love that dress, what an absolute...' - 'she is going to freeze her perky little ass off out there...' - 'God, I remember sliding my hands up those hips, lifting that short-short dress off her ass, slipping my fingers into her panties and dragging them down off her butt in the alley behind that house party...' "I thought we could mail and... sort out who should move out after a little time apart." The money. The fact that they had both paid the rent this month had seemed like such an important point at which to draw a line. Of course, neither of them had given a crap really. And of course he only realised that now. "To be honest, Nat," her hair - sandy, dirty blonde, still wet but brushed straight - fell across her right eye. She pushed it back as she listened, "I was thinking of moving out already." "Oh!" softer, but surprised once again. "Me too," she said with what might have been the first half smile to pass between them since it happened. She took a step towards him, hesitated, then made that final, dramatic commitment to sit down with him. She lowered herself carefully (she had to be careful in that dress) into the armchair. The TV was already low, but he turned it down even more, dropped the handset onto the table that still afforded each of them some kind of barrier - some kind of protection. "Well," he pulled his lips into what he hoped was a rueful smile, not completely devoid of warmth, "that's that then." "You're going all the way back East?" A smart-ass retort about that being where his mother lived appeared, spring-loaded, on his tongue. He kept his mouth shut and nodded. "Wow." "I booked a ticket yesterday, but just... email me or whatever and we can talk. If you want to," he added hurriedly. They were taking it in turns it seemed, this time she nodded silently. He was trying his best to look at her, to pay attention to her, but also not to pay her too much attention, and certainly not to run his eyes too blatantly up her slim legs. He was absolutely doing his best not to trace them and follow them up under that thin pink and blue fabric, where she had her thighs demurely pressed together and turned away from him. As if there was much demure about that fucking dress. At least she hadn't started on the buttons up at the top that allowed the dress - little more than a stretched work-shirt - to gape open, to give in to the pressure from her small, firm breasts and allow the freckled skin of her chest to breathe. Irritation bubbled up inside him that she would put him in this situation of not knowing where to look, but he quashed it, pushed it down. She wasn't doing it to him, it was just happening. "You need..." she started, stopped, "You look tired, Jay." He almost laughed, and let his head hang down again. "Could be the sleeping on the couch." Everything he said could be seen as an attack he realised, but she didn't seem to be in the mood to pick a fight either. "Hey, you chose the sofa," she shot back, and he let her. He had, it had been one of those break-up martyrdom things. Neither of them had been in the wrong. Either that or they both had. It hadn't been about infidelity it had just been about... momentum. "Don't you have to get ready?" For some reason, he didn't have to consciously wring the sour note out of his voice. Oh God, sickening as it was, they were in life-lesson mode now weren't they? His mind started spinning. What should he be reacting against here? Surely there was something to be mad about. "No... No not yet," he looked up and she was looking right at him, with a faintly curious directness he had forgotten about. "Isn't it weird how no-one's taking sides yet?" She meant their friends. They all seemed exasperated, unsurprised and... noncommittal about the whole thing. "Um, I guess." "Don't think I didn't see where you were looking." She slipped it in so quickly, so smoothly - just like her. Was this where it was going to derail? He looked down again and braced for impact. "I didn't mean..." "It's ok," she cut him off, and he felt her eyes leave him. She smoothed the hem of her short dress, a little nervously it seemed. "We... well it was stupid to stay living on top of each other, wasn't it?" Well, not literally on top of each other, he thought, and pictures of before appeared unbidden before him. Images and short clips of when he would fuck her from behind and she would slump forwards by degrees until she was all but flat against the bed and he was flat on top of her, still angled into her, fucking her as best he could, feeling her pussy squeezing the end of him. "A lot of this is stupid," he conceded. It was, but it was irretrievably stupid, wasn't it? Irreparably stupid. Right? "I can't believe you're wearing those jeans." "I can't believe you're wearing that dress." "Huh," she almost laughed, "touche, I suppose." She leaned back into the chair, turned her face too deliberately towards the TV and crossed her legs towards him spectacularly. He honestly (honestly) hadn't even realised where he had been looking until she did it, until he realised he was looking at the pale, beautiful skin of her inner-thigh as she shifted - and then looking, unable to resist, further up where things blurred into darkness and... "Nat! Jesus!" She had done it on purpose. He knew because it was her, so her. "What?" She turned to him a picture of wide-eyed innocence, and for a second his conviction wavered, then he saw her cute, freckled nose wrinkle up the tiniest bit and knew she was playing with him. "What the hell are you doing? Don't... We can't play games anymore." "Jay, I should be the one annoyed that you're looking where you shouldn't." Now, how the hell should he read this? Two weeks of spitting venom and cursing each other's name and now this? What in the name of God was this? He felt his neck start to prickle in irritation, his blood cooling in his veins. She had seemed... more human for ten minutes. Was it all part of some game to fuck him up even more? "Oh man." He sighed and sat up straight, preparing to get up - to go somewhere even though the only other room with a door was hers and he had to wait in the fucking apartment for his fucking date. Into the kitchen maybe, he could always make another coffee. Like his nerves weren't already shot enough. "Well, when you can seriously talk - when we've had some time apart - let me know, 'kay?" He stood up, and she moved, turning to face him fully for the first time. "Like I'm the one who needs time apart to get their head straight." It was fighting talk but it didn't have the force or the fury that he'd recently come to expect, and her hands were still doing that nervous thing she did, tugging on the hem of her dress, making it perfectly flat against her thighs. "Nat, what..." He raised both hands in an exasperated shrug. She was playing some game and he was at an utter loss as to the rules, let alone the stakes. "I mean..." and suddenly she was biting her lip and... he was stunned. He knew her so well but this expression was something completely new. Teasing, but without the invincible self-confidence she usually had to back that up. As if, this time, she felt that things might go wrong. "I mean, isn't this the only thing on your mind? Still?" And she pulled the hem of her dress back, the other way, lifting it for him. The sandy tuft of her pubic hair, her slim thighs and between them a flash of pink - her soft, sweet lips. What the fuck was she doing? She had a game, they both had nothing but games, but he had no idea which one they were playing. "Cat got your tongue, Jay?" She wrinkled her nose again and he felt his pulse quicken, his blood heating up. And still he didn't know which had him more dumbstruck, this brazen exposure, to someone she must know had been saying the most disgusting things about her, or that strange, unique expression she had been wearing. "You're expecting me to take my cock out?" He didn't know the rules, but he knew how to play Nat's games in general. Don't back down, always raise the stakes. He looked her in the face, then back down between her legs. "And were you going out like that? Your date's a lucky guy." "Jealous?" She cocked her head insolently and leaned back, keeping her dress lifted - almost daintily with the index finger and thumb of each hand. As she leant back she pushed her ass forwards - her bare ass on that old armchair, and not for the first time - and spread her legs a little wider. His view improved, he could see those succulent looking lips properly now; still bashfully closed, not the dripping, blooming flower he liked to remember. "It's nothing I haven't had before." He made his voice faux-hard. If he hadn't seen that shakiness, that vulnerability, he'd be sure that she was just fucking with him to ruin his date. But there was something else. Neither of them had ever been the type for serious relationship talks until it had all turned rotten. Maybe this was nothing more than a long-overdue conversation of sorts. "But not anymore." "Watch how far you're pushing this Nat," he lowered his voice and felt the corner of his mouth twitch, a quarter-smile of his own, "See where it gets you." "Ah sorry!" she pretended not to hear him, dropped her skirt at last and twisted in the deep armchair. She turned away from him, knelt up and leaned on the back of the chair. Then her hands were behind her lifting up her super-short dress again, the couple of inches it took to expose her pert, rosy behind. "This was more your thing, right?" He hadn't seen that tiny mole for weeks he realised, and the nostalgia almost caught in his throat. Then she arched her back more, spread her thighs and he caught another glimpse of that perfect pussy again. A little pinker? A little more flushed? His prick twitched and he sank his teeth into his lower lip on one side. He hadn't noticed it swelling, hadn't noticed the blood filling it, but now he did. He should, he realised, look across, check the time. That girl might be here anytime. Anytime at all. But it was hard - hard to look away from her teasing eyes peeking over her shoulder, from her pert, bare ass, from her naughty, pink pussy. Her hair, strands drifting across her face, was drying tangled and unstyled in the artificial heat of the apartment. What was she doing? Was she willing to ruin her date just to ruin his? Maybe she just cared as little about her new start as he did about his. Still he could just walk away. Wait outside the apartment for his date. She'd be here anytime now. He took a step towards her, pushing the table aside with his shin as he moved. "Oh yeah, something about this pose that you like, I remember." She crossed her arms along the back of the chair and leaned forwards even more, spread her thighs and sank down a little more. He couldn't see that precious pink cleft anymore, but he did love the way her ass moved when she spread her thighs wide like that. Her knees wide apart now, kneeling, thighs spread, she bounced experimentally a couple of times. High school gymnast, he thought. Damn, he doubted his date tonight had been a gymnast in high school. "There are even better ones." Now he was smiling, he didn't know when he'd started. "Such as?" She raised her self up again, her dress slipping back down (and even now it barely covered the tempting curve of her rear) and looked over her shoulder at him. Yet more blasphemous, affected innocence. "You can't win this game, Nat." "Game?" her brow furrowed as she faked confusion. A smattering of freckles rearranged themselves and he mentally kicked himself for finding it adorable. He took another step closer, the coffee table out of his way now. "Neither of us ever wins. Every single fucking game ends in stalemate." "I don't..." she started, but halfway through the lie, she let it go. "I think we - both of us - had our tactics all wrong." He smiled cautiously, then - game or no game - stuck to his approach and raised again. "Gimme another pose while I think that over," he slipped his hands into his pockets and raised his eyebrows expectantly. He felt a brush of wetness: his pre-cum staining his underwear already. She pouted, "Aw, was that a little deep for poor little Jay?" She stood up on the seat of the chair, her small feet sinking into the once plush maroon cushion. Then she put one foot on one armrest and one on the other, shifting her weight gracefully as she balanced and the chair moved slightly. Jay allowed himself another smile as he let his eyes roam freely now, up the perfectly straight inverted 'V' of both legs until they vanished into the plaid veil that was barely preserving her modesty. She looked down at him from her athletic vantage point and grinned. She actually grinned. Maybe they had both been very silly about this whole thing. Nat grinned, and then she bent down, effortlessly keeping her legs perfectly straight as she reached down to put her hands on the back of the chair. She was making a sizzling structure of her body: her straight legs, calves taut, split wide open to support her weight; her pert little butt the turning point from which her back sloped down, bent more than ninety-degrees so that her head was lower than her waist. Her tangled hair was falling down around her face, and finally her slim arms, as perfectly straight as her legs, were propping her upper body up by holding onto the back of the armchair. One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #03 Of course, arranged like that her impractical dress had been dragged up again, leaving her pussy bare and exposed for him. He was maybe two steps away now. "H-how's that." Her voice shook a little, most likely from the exertion of maintaining her odd, but sexy, pose. Her elevation, standing on the arms of the chair, meant that the alluring pink folds of her pussy were just a little lower than eye level for him. The way she was showing herself to him would have been brazen even in the golden days of their relationship. He stepped forwards again, not seeing the need to answer. The edge of her skirt was still preserving the modesty of her dark little asshole, but all he had to do was reach out and lift it... and that little secret would be revealed to him too. He drank in the view he already had: the dirty blonde tangle of her bush just below the little hood hiding her clit, and then from that, the sweet flesh of her cunt. Still to soften, still to bloom. "Oh, that's definitely helping me think," he said at last. The heating rattled, the windows rattled, and he had the feeling a storm was on its way. He couldn't look at the window though, he would have had to tear his eyes away from the divine way the flesh of her thighs was goose-bumping in a sudden draft to do that. "Not me. I think the blood is starting to go to my head." "Really," he said, not caring. Then he reached out and touched her thigh for the first time in what felt like forever. Only two weeks, he reminded himself. She couldn't see what he was doing, and gasped. "I don't care what this means for us..." he started, but she cut him off. "Me either." Her voice was breathy but clear. He took another half-step and leaned in. "Me either," she repeated as he touched his lips to the back of her left thigh - two inches to the left of the private cleft he really wanted to kiss. He kissed her there again, then moved across to her right leg. He heard her breathing deepen, and the soft sound became one with the wind whistling outside as he put one hand on each of her calves, and continued to kiss - first one side then the other. Again and again he kissed, narrowing the gap as her scent - fragrant, delicious, freshly showered - filled his nose. He felt the muscles of her legs tense under his fingers. Then he was there. He kissed her lips there, and her whole body shivered. He inhaled, savouring everything about the moment. Then his long tongue reached, swooped, and drew a thick wet stripe up that tender, defenceless slit. Nat mewled: a kittenish, fluttering sound that made his heart pound all the harder. His prick jumped, strained against his jeans - his date jeans, but to think about the date would be to break the spell. His hands came up, above his head, and rested on her backside. He let himself put some weight on her, to ease his back as he stood, stooping, face lost in his ex-girlfriend's crotch. He felt lucky, but then he always felt lucky when he touched her. Her dress was under his fingers and he could feel the hem brushing his brow so he started sliding his hands over her firm backside and easing it up. All the time he kept tasting, kept his tongue working. He slid down to that little button, barely anything yet, then he came back up just relishing the flavour, not probing or pushing or teasing yet. He had no time at all, but he felt like he had all the time in the world. Nat sounded like she had something she wanted to say, but she wasn't coming out with it, so he let her sigh and whisper. Oh, and suddenly, as he pushed her dress back as far as it would go against the thin belt she had cinched around her waist, as he exposed her ass completely, he felt her yield. He pulled back, licking his lips, resting his tongue and grinning. "Mmm, getting dizzy?" "A little." "Good." Her pussy was even softer when he returned to it. His tongue instructed it to open, and it submitted. Inside a juicy, wet prize was already waiting for him. He lapped it up, enjoying the indescribable taste of her interior, then he gave her lips more attention. They were short and delicate, and he treated them gently at first, tracing and coaxing, not bullying. He felt her hips shift as he drew circle after circle after circle. Then he started applying pressure, teasing and exploring, working the front of her cunt until he felt that dense little point become more prominent. He stopped thinking about how long he had at all. "Ok, ok, just..." She started to speak and that seemed like as good a cue as any for him to lean in further still, to make his tongue into a short, hard spear and to penetrate her. His tongue delved deep inside her, and he explored, bending it up and down and listening to her moan. At the very tip of his tongue she was tight, but he didn't shy away from exerting a little force now as he started to devour her. He moved his tongue in long, firm strokes inside her and she couldn't help herself - she just got wetter and wetter until she was leaving smears of herself around his lips and her juices were marking his chin. "Jay- Jay, can I get down?" "Mm-mmn." "I'm getting dizzy and... and hot... Jay." "Mmn?" He made a noise that said - 'Oh how interesting. And why should I care?' He couldn't be sure she got the full meaning though, as he slipped his tongue out of her straight after and sucked her pretty pussy lips fiercely into his mouth. "Oooh, SHIT!" she squealed and her legs buckled, making Jay lurch down with her to keep his mouth to her moistening entrance. She straightened slowly, and he could feel her legs trembling as she did. And when she was safely standing again (her thighs still quivering in a way that was indescribably arousing) he moved his tongue to her clit. "Nuh- No, wait Jay." He felt one hand push weakly at his hands where they were holding up her dress. So he stopped, and pulled an inch away from her, grinning. "Wait?" "Wait? No- No, fuck no. Why did you stop?" She was always this scatterbrained when she got past the halfway mark. He loved it and suddenly felt the pressing urge to release his prick from its uncomfortable bondage. That was totally understandable at this point, surely? He set the tip of his tongue right on her, right on her swollen clitoris, and started to toy with it gently but insistently. He swiped his tongue back and forth then up and down, and at the same time he bunched her dress up into his fist and tucked it clumsily into her belt - keeping it up. Then one hand could squeeze her pert ass as if working the tension out of her firm flesh, and the other could begin to fumble at his own crotch. She just kept getting wetter, and his lips were thoroughly covered in her fluids now. He just let it come, let her flavour fill his mouth and dominate his senses as his belt came undone, then his date jeans, then the whole annoying mess was forced down to his thighs letting his cock leap up, twitching and bobbing. "Hah- Ha!" she gasped, "I can see your dick." He smiled as his tongue settled into a rhythm - one he knew from experience she wouldn't be able to resist. With her head hanging down she would be looking down the length of herself, between her athletically split legs to his crotch and his hardening manhood. He kept his tongue moving, kept to the same speed and added just a little pressure. Now he could feel her moving beneath his tongue - the nub of her getting forced back and forth and back and forth again and again. But he gave her a show as well, letting his dangling hand grab himself, take hold of his cock and slowly work it as best he could for her. Multitasking like that wasn't his strongest suit, if he was frank with himself. He was focussed on his tongue, so his hand on his own cock felt jerky and unsure. But still, the whole thing seemed to be working out. Considering the position he was in it barely took anything to get his prick to harden, to fill out and to really fulfil its potential. Nat sighed. "Oh yes... like that... stroke it like that," and suddenly he was the focus of this little scene and she was the voyeur - the dominant one. She had a habit of doing that. "Show-" but he cut her off and started licking her, a little quicker, but still with the same regular, even rhythm. And the movement he made forced him to lean in even more, and forced his nose right into her. The tip of it parted her fully blossoming lips and he felt lost in her. Her wetness engulfed him. She was close. He felt her shifting, heard her breath shift up a gear. He felt like he was covered in her, like she was marking him as hers - still - even after it had seemed the last rites had been read for their fantastic, frustrating relationship. He heard her draw a long ragged breath, and felt her thighs tense and her girl-cum flow into his mouth and he thought - "Here it comes..." But she was holding back, and then he heard her voice, trembling but pushy: "Show me that cock, Jay." Fuck her, still holding back! Did she really think she could control this situation? "Pull back that skin and sh-show me how that head fuckin'... fucking shines." And he did, he did just as she asked. Lost in her, his tongue working, driving her slowly towards that ending she couldn't escape for much longer, he held his cock tightly at the root and bent it up towards her. "Fuck, yeah, now jerk- jerk it... f-" But Jay was done pandering to her. His tongue flickered backwards and forwards and his other thumb, the one that had been testing her rump not holding his dick, slipped over and nestled against the warm little dimple of her asshole. He teased it, he licked her, he pressed his nose even further between her hungry lips until thoughts of drowning popped unbidden into his head. And then she came. "Jerk - fuck... Fucking God, oh my fucking-" Her sentences as broken and scrambled as always, her legs bending and her hips humping as always, her cum delicious as always. He bent awkwardly with her as her knees lost their strength and he strove to keep his tongue to her, to give her as good a climax as he could. His tongue slipped back as she slumped back, and he found his nose up against her ass now - nearer to her asshole than the slit it had been buried in - while his tongue was managing, just, to stay between her pussy-lips. Then she was really collapsing into the armchair and he had to pull away and kneel back himself for fear of being squashed. He watched as she slumped to one side, her face up against the back of the chair, her juices staining the worn old upholstery. He knelt and stroked his prick as her legs give little post-climax kicks and stretches. Her eyes were open but she wasn't looking at him. After a moment she turned. "Hey, are you going to jerk that prick for me properly or not? What is it they say about beating one out before a big date?" Her face was gaining composure, her tone pure shit-eating mockery. "You should probably wipe your..." she waved her hand over her own face, "wipe yourself off too. You've got a little something..." He just smiled - smiled and stood up. With the heating set so high and the physical exertions of a few minutes prior, he had begun to sweat. He half-unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the garment over his head. "Did you get some dinner on your shirt too?" Goddamn it was maddening, that fake-innocent look she did. The freckles, that was what made it. They made her look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "Take that fucking dress off, Nat." The firmness of his tone seemed to catch her for a moment, but the assured smile quickly crept back into place. If she had a plan, this had probably been it. He didn't give a crap about his date anymore. She stood too, unfolding her legs from the chair slowly and unbuttoning her dress as she came up. By that time his socks had been flung away and he was extricating himself from the last stretch of his jeans. He stood buck naked before her, stroking his solid, attentive shaft as she looked up at him coyly, through her tangle of straw-like hair, slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it slip-slide down her body to the floor. Her thighs still faintly shining with her cum, that little tuft of hair mussed and tangled too, her flat stomach and her small, high breasts: he took them all in. He stepped forward and took a lipstick-pink nipple between the thumb and forefinger of either hand. "Ow," she said softly, not meaning it. He wasn't trying to hurt her. Not anymore. He thrilled to feel her small, warm hands on his cock, exploring its length, cupping his balls and stroking it slowly as it getting reacquainted with a long lost toy. He led her, gently, by the nipples to the sofa, then released her and pushed her down onto it. She fell with a giggle onto the fat, plush cushions, watching him lower himself to his knees and shuffling her butt forwards as he did so. She slouched against the back of the big sofa and brought her sopping, oh-so-ready pussy to the edge of the seat. On his knees, he brought his own gleaming, dripping sex to hers. An inch, a centimetre and then nothing. His hot, purple head was nestling in the folds of her precious cleft with nothing left between him and her and either finishing things forever or... Or what? Putting things right? "Your poor date." She bit her lip and looked up at him. It was always such sweet taunting. "Same to you," he shot back, then he moved his hips just a little and she gasped. But he wasn't inside her yet. His cock twitched, his left hand at its base keeping it right up against her, penetrating her defences just a fraction. His right hand slid up her thigh, held her slim waist on one side. "Say please." "Now who's playing games?" "Say please." "And if I don't?" "I'll get dressed, wash my face and go on my date." "No. You wouldn't." She narrowed her eyes. "You'd fuck me anyway." "Try me," and he leaned back and his prick slipped out of her. A centimetre between them again. She pouted and for a moment looked as if she was truly torn about what to do. He didn't care, and took the moment to commit this to memory - the vision of them naked together on the verge of fucking. He hadn't been able to the last-last time. This time he didn't want to be caught out. He was about to stop teasing her, to slip his cock back into her inviting warmth in earnest, when she surprised him. "Please." "Hey," he grinned, hadn't really expected her to say it, "of course." He leaned and pushed his hips forward gently and guided himself with his hand and both of them were looking down, watching as his prick opened her all-too-willing pussy and slipped inside. He let out a broken, joyful shaking sound, and felt her squeezing him. Wet and tight and wonderfully hot, she let him in as far as she could, but she still needed to relax properly before she could really take him all. His other hand slid over her hip, over her belly, and his thumb started to stroke her clit again. Biting her lip she wriggled a little and pushed his hand away with both of hers. "Too much too soon," she whispered, without a shred of front or performance in her voice, and before he knew what he was doing he was taking her hands in his, bringing them up either side of her head and pinning them against the sofa. He was leaning over her and then he was bringing his head town and she was craning up and then they were kissing, hot and crazed like it was their very first time. And she took more of him, let more of his swollen cock into her hot, pink channel and he groaned into her mouth. Like this, in this position, he knew he could fuck her so deeply, something she loved but was always worried about overdoing for fear it would leave her aching. He moved his hips as best he could with their lips still locked, slipping out a little, then he fucked another single stroke into her. He felt her wetness on his solid shaft as he went deeper still. "Mmm!" She moaned and broke the kiss. "Gentle, but then... y'know," she wrinkled her nose, self-consciously this time, "not so gentle." He almost laughed then once more he acquiesced. He gave her one more kiss and leaned back, his hands gently on her hips as he stroked in and out of her slow and easy. He watched his prick emerge shining with her juices and fought for control for a split second, then stroked it back in as gently as he could. She craned her neck to watch too then let her head fall back. Her eyes closed. Her lips parted and pushed in a dreamy pout and his prick bucked as he watched her lick them sensuously. Oh, and she was letting him all the way in now - his length filling her, even as she squeezed him still. "Mmmffuck," she sighed and he started to breath more heavily - that inner animal coming out as he did as she asked and started fucking her not so gently. His hips thrust now, forceful and demanding that she take him, not politely asking but working to their own rhythm. Her cunt was a paradise that seared his senses and sent his mind reeling. He put his hands on her thighs and spread them wider, and her nervous whinny of acceptance drove him on even more. He thrust and watched the force shake her small tits just a little as they lay back on her body. Her brow was furrowing, her eyes still closed, in a world of her own as he opened her and fucked her, once again, all over again. He felt that feeling of satisfaction, of belonging, that came with burying his prick into the girl he loved - used to love - whatever. He felt that feeling twist and change in his loins into something stronger, a flame of pleasure that would lead him to lose himself as he had made her lose herself on the armchair. Nat opened her eyes now and looked up at him, reaching and putting her hands flat on his bare, perspiring chest. "Ok? For you I mean?" She half-spoke, half-moaned the question. "Fucking... fucking incredible," he growled in response and increased his speed. She started exhaling in short high moans, and when she did that... Fuck, that was so hot, how the hell could he control himself now? "Oh! Oh! Uh! Fuck!" She leaned up, on hand on his neck pulling herself, the other pushing up on the sofa. "Oh shit! Oh! Ah!" Her tone rising each time, her eyes clenched tight shut as the new angle made his prick rub her in a whole new way as it drove into her. It was so fucking hot in the apartment that it might as well have been summer. He didn't notice any drafts from the rattling old window - didn't notice the snow starting to fleck the window pane. Then she was moving, and it was one of those crazy tae-kwon-do moves that she used on him every now and then. 'Tae-kwon-do For Fucking', that was probably the class she'd been taking. She somehow started to pivot him - to turn him so that he was sitting on the sofa - without letting his shaft out of her demanding puss. But that was impossible, so it slipped out eventually, to a sigh of disappointment from them both. Before he knew it though the disappointment was gone and he was sitting on the sofa and she was straddling him, lowering herself onto his prick, guiding herself down, controlling his manhood as he just looked on dumbly. "Getting too deep there, boy," she explained, pausing to gasp as his member re-entered her soft, moist chamber. "My turn to set the pace." And she did, her trim frame immediately rising and falling as her thigh muscles raised her up and lowered her back down again. She was the one doing the fucking now, but the way he could watch her, see her chest shuddering and heaving and her breasts moving right before his eyes, was more than enough compensation. He didn't reach for her breasts though, he loved to hold her ass when she was like this - loved to feel her muscles moving as she moved. He reached around her and just as he cupped her molten, jumping cheeks she leaned down to kiss him. Her hands on his shoulders, she leaned even further and then the quick, panting heat of her breath was on his earlobe, and he felt that flame of pleasure deep down inside him flare and twist - up through his balls, up through his shaft - and he knew it wouldn't be long before he would be... One Night in Short, Dirty Pieces #03 "I want you to come..." her voice was shaking, breaking, "...come in my pussy." There was no way he could refuse when she asked that fucking sexily. He felt his hips start to fuck up into her, quicker to respond than his lips. "Oh, with pleasure." And then they were perfectly in synch, for the first time that night, for the first time in months probably. Their movements sweetly in time, she rose and fell just as his hips slipped up. And from her lips now, the sighs spilled and the happiness he heard matched the feeling that was bubbling up from deep inside him. Fuck, he couldn't take it, he was going to lose it, he was going to shoot his seed inside his ex-, his girl- The doorbell rang. They froze, with her at the apex of her climb, his prick only just inside her. Fuck! So close! He felt the longing, the craving for release driving him almost insane. Fuck it, he could pull her down onto him, force those last few fucks into her and spill his cum if she didn't move soon. Fuck the doorbell, what was she waiting for? Then suddenly she was standing up on the sofa, standing and jumping down off the side onto the floor. "I'll get it," she called cheerily over her shoulder. Striding to the hallway door and flinging it open, stark naked, her cunt and thighs smeared with her own juices and his own slick pre-cum. He twisted his neck to watch her go, stunned. What the hell was she doing? It came to him quickly: his date. The date he'd never met. She was firmly, brazenly stamping that out before it even became anything. She was going to answer the door naked, cock her hip and say something like, "Sorry, Jay's got to cancel the date because he was balls deep in me just a moment ago." The date was dead, he knew that, but he couldn't let her do that he just... he couldn't. When he started moving he was running and his strides covered more of the shaking, creaking floorboards as he ran after her. But he still needed to grab something - the duvet that he'd been sleeping under and which was piled up in the corner of the room - and she had a head start on him. As he swung off the doorframe and into the hall he saw that she was almost at the door already. Another six strides. Her hand was already on the security latch, and he started to have second thoughts. To be greeted by a naked Nat was one thing, but to have both of them naked - maybe this plan had needed more thought. But the thought came and went quickly and he had no time to act on it as he barrelled down the hall towards her perky little ass. His cock - still hard but already losing its edge - swung ridiculously in the air before him. She turned the lock and then the handle. He opened the duvet and let panic carry him that one, final, giant stride until he was on top of her, wrapping her in the soft folds of the bedclothes. He hugged her to him, felt her slim, lithe form against his in a way that would have normally had him shivering with pleasure. His prick, still slick from both of their bodies, swiped across her flank and he gasped in relief. Then he looked up. The door handle hit the same, dented spot on the wall it always did, and the girl in the doorway stared at them open mouthed. "Hi..." She spoke first, her intonation rising almost into a question. "Hi!" Nat cut in brightly. She was positively luxuriating in the crisis she had instigated. The initiative needed seizing, he thought, then found himself concentrating instead on keeping a straight face as - shrouded in the duvet - Nat's fingers curled around his prick and started wanking him. And she was serious about it, firm quick strokes - fuck, she wanted him to shoot right here, right in front of his Fresh-Start Girl. He felt himself plump up in her grip and gritted his teeth. "I'm... I'm Holly, I'm here to meet... Jay..." She was cute, was the kicker. A curvy little geek-cute girl in a tight denim skirt, an impractical looking puffy coat and perfect hipster spectacles. Amazing, knee-high socks too. Jay thought about that country, the one that had been on TV, what was it...? Korea! Yes, what did he know about Korea? He thought about primary industries and GDP and swallowed and tried not to think about the commanding hand-job he was receiving. She was squeezing... and it was almost too tight, but she trod that line between pain and pleasure as skilfully as always. She was putting so much fucking effort into it that the movement of her shoulder was clearly visible through their cover. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Jay, say something baby." Nat, wrapped up with him like a two-piece human taco, looked over her shoulder at him. "You're Jay?" the girl said, her expression curdling from sceptical to sour. "I'm, I'm sorry... Ho-Holly, right?" "Is this a joke? "I'm so sorry you had to see us like this, Holly," Nat smiled, sounding utterly without remorse. "But you see, the thing is we... we were having some problems, but I think we're kind of... working them out." Such bullshit, such front, it would drive him mad were it not for how much it turned him on. He tried to remember the date of the Korean war and separation. "You two were...?" "Well, wait, do you mean dating or...?" Nat giggled lightly. "I guess the answer would be yes to both questions anyway." "Holy shit." His date - the girl - Holly, looked at him. He had trouble making eye contact. "Is that true? And you answer the door like this?" Her cheeks were flushing in entirely justified anger. "I had to..." he started but Nat squeezed sharply and he found himself mouthing the next word soundlessly. At least the pain yanked him back from the point of ejaculation. "It's true," he whispered, wracked with guilt and tormented with pleasure. "Fuck this," Holly spat and turned on her heel, her perky rear disappearing quickly down the corridor away from them. "Sorry!" called Nat after her, once again doing a terrible job of sounding at all apologetic. Jay could finally bring his arms down from keeping the duvet wrapped around them, and as he called out his own apology he seized Nat's delicate wrist and pulled it away from his throbbing member. He kicked the door closed, letting the duvet fall from his shoulders to the threadbare hallway carpet. "You are such an unbelievable bitch," he said as she turned to face him. Should he be truly mad? Was she just fucking with him to fuck him up even more, or...? "Jay, baby. I don't want to break up anymore." There it was: her hand on the table, laid out for him to see. It took the edge of his rage but his blood was still up, his prick bobbing and pointing up at an alarmingly sharp angle. "Are you... is this more bullshit?" "No more bullshit, but... Well let's take a week off, go back to... go back home, and see how we feel when we come back." He didn't answer, just watched her. Watched as the demonic pleasure she had taken from messing with that poor girl vanished to be replaced with a stark honesty that she hadn't shown him for years. Ah, shit. He didn't want to break up with her either. "Let's... let's do that." "But I have- I have one more thing to confess to." And again he watched her pretty, freckled face as the mischief crept back into it. He set his jaw and acknowledged his prick's urgent message that it really needed some release pretty damn soon. "C'mon. What else?" "I never had any date lined up for tonight." He actually couldn't work out what she meant for a moment, and when he had figured it out it took him another few seconds to fathom the implications. "I just told Sally that because I knew you'd hear and... it'd make you jealous maybe. I didn't know you'd go ahead and... do the same thing." "So... so you were perfectly happy to have me licking and fucking you because you knew it was only my date you were fucking up?" He heard his own pulse in his ears for a minute. He'd been right, she had been playing him - if only a little, and if only because she'd realised she wanted him after all. "I mean, but you can see why-" she yelped as he grabbed her shoulder and span her roughly to face the door again. "Jay!" "Bend over." "Jay, you understand though?" "Bend the fuck over Nat. Bend over and spread your legs." She looked over her shoulder at him, and he could see that she really didn't know how safe the ground she was walking on was. But she did it, bending once more at the waist and reaching out to the door handle and the mailbox for support as she set her legs into a perfect 'A'. "I made you mad, didn't I?" He couldn't see her face anymore but he could hear the mix of contrition and guilty pleasure she was experiencing. This wasn't the end, there was no need for him to memorise this moment anymore, but he still took the moment to enjoy the way she arched her back, the way her puffy pink pussy peeked out between her thighs like this, the freckles scattered across her shoulder blades. Then he stepped up to her and brought his member to her luscious, dripping entrance one final time. He stroked himself once more, ensuring his tumescence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then he pressed the tip of it into her. "Nuh," she grunted, "I made you mad and now you're going to..." CRACK! His hand came down, hard, and her tight right ass-cheek quivered in response. "Ow! Jay! That really..." CRACK! And then as she was squealing in pain and surprise he thrust, he divided her lips and drove his shaft into her blissfully hot depths. And he didn't wait this time, he didn't hold back. He let her struggle for control, let her cling onto the door for dear life as with one hand on her hip he fucked her, he let his prick have its fill of her slick, sweet pot of honey. He listened to the sound of her - still so wet and still staying wet - but he didn't listen to anything she was saying as he raced towards the satisfaction he'd been craving forever. When he glanced down he saw that her cheek was reddening where he had spanked her. So he spanked her again. "Ow! Oh fuck I needed that." He grinned, it was nothing new for them, but... in a way it was something that only happened on special occasions. When they were clearing the air. She would have her turn with him, he knew. Oh shit, oh fuck. And now here it came. She threw her tangled, mussed hair back and from an obtuse angle he saw the frown of concentration on her face. He felt his shoulders hunch up and he took her hips firmly, his own still humping and churning like a beast as his prick sang out between her soft, succulent pussy-lips. "Jay, Jay... one more time... once more..." This trickster Goddess, this divine cunt, the perfect girl for him, the girl who made him lose himself time after time. She was up on the balls of her feet, her back curved, letting him shake her and just fuck into her as hard and as fast as he liked, and he wanted to comply, one more time, he wanted to jiggle that naughty ass with the sudden shock of a spank but he was lost now, he was past the edge and in that zone where climax is inevitable but the first kicks and clenches seem like an eternity away. And when he came, it felt so fucking good. He barked a sharp grunt of joy and pulled her hips tight to him, feeling her firm thighs against his, as his prick roared and shuddered and released its thick, copious load as deep inside her as it was possible to get. It tried to jump and move in her close confines, and as rational sensation returned he felt her squeeze him, milk him for yet more of his creamy spunk. He half pulled out, his prick the whole of him, so sensitive that he felt every millimetre of movement, then he rushed back into her and sent another solid shot of his essence into her. Black spots crowded his vision then quickly receded. His shoulders slowly unknotted themselves as his hearing returned and he looked down at Nat's shaking, shuddering back. She was gasping for breath. "Fuck me sideways," he exhaled, then, "Are you okay?" "Mmm..." he watched the back of her head, his manhood still solid, still impaling her, "I'm ok I'm..." He started gingerly withdrawing himself and she made a quick, high noise: "Mmmmn!" "I... I lost control." "Uh... uh-huh?" "Like, totally." "I noticed." She sounded winded and he winced, hoping now, uselessly, that he hadn't been too rough. "I... I, uh, I came again." His eyebrows shot up. That was... pretty rare for Nat. "Ah, even though I couldn't manage that last slap?" "Even though." She nodded again and then moved forward a little herself. Working together they finally came apart. She turned to face him and slumped back against the door, exhausted. His hand went to the security lock that they had left unlatched. Her hand went to her pussy, and he watched her bite her lips as her fingers touched his seed. "'S'hot," she commented. "You're hot," he quipped back, lamely then stood back as she moved shakily past him and headed down the hall. To the bathroom he guessed. He looked down as his cock. He had sated it, but it didn't really look that way - it was still jutting up, so thoroughly coated with their juices now that it looked almost liquid in the dim hallway light. Then he noticed the icy knives edging in through the letterbox and under the front door and he yelped in the cold. Now his prick flagged and he headed back to the safety of the interior of the apartment. In the living room he could see she had left the bathroom door open, and while he couldn't see her he could see the mirror - still steamed up from her shower back when they had been officially broken up. It seemed like a very, very long time ago now. She appeared, a tired smile on her face. "That was good." "I feel terrible about that girl." He couldn't manage a full smile back. "She wasn't right for you," Nat nodded, tiredly but sagely. "I'm glad you could see that so quickly," he deadpanned and she smiled again. "My ass really does hurt you know." "I should think so, I really put some effort into those." "Asshole." "When are you going back to your place?" "Tuesday." "Hmmm, a few days then." "For what?" Her eyes slipped to his dick, still far from flaccid. "I don't know," he lied.