4 comments/ 30972 views/ 1 favorites Waking Up Hard By: Kittiwake The kitchen is dark, angular, masculine, glinting stainless steel. It said contemporary. It said wealth. Presiding over the living room, an enormous fish tank, Caribbean aquatic wonders ablaze in vivid color, mouths agape, apparitions in a slow ballet. Julia would not forget Craig D'Amato's spectacular ultra-trendy apartment in the super-posh city centre. She would forget nothing about Craig D'Amato. He was an unforgettable sort, peculiar, funny, sometimes distant, with a perceptible hunger about him, his blue eyes set like sprung tigers about to pounce. He carried himself with an erect, easy confidence garnered by success, galvanized by achievement at such a young age. She remembered their first meeting, the way he filled his tailored suit, deeply tanned from skiing at Vail, silk shirt spread at the collar, tall, strong hands, a way of looking at you and filling you. Julia would carry a piece of Craig D'Amato three steps past eternity. Images, splintered in her mind. The slow, expert swirling of his tongue over her flaming clitoris, the agonizing slow lengthy thrusts, her ankles draped over his shoulders, fingernails raking his ass, his smell, the way his back sheened with sweat, the long afternoons whiled away inside her, his hunger for food and drink and sex. Craig was an exceptional lover, the perfect blend of charity in coaxing her to aching, arching orgasm, and selfishness, the way he would pump her vigorously, withdraw, and feed his cock into her mouth, as sweetly as fish through water. Craig's bedroom, when she came to know it as a carnal home, was equally lush as the kitchen, a mammoth Californian bed, a sea of pillows, an eiderdown duvet. Julia would remember the way they lit the bed afire, the bedsprings singing a symphony, the way Craig would get behind her, facing the bureau mirror, pumping rhythmically, his fingers twined in her hair, cupping her sweating tits, his breath hot on her neck, whispering in her ear. They would watch each other, Julia's silver eyes wide in the mirror, her full breasts swaying, Craig's hands cupping her shapely ass as she frantically fingered herself, then feathered her fingertips across his swollen balls. There was a beauty in their coupling, framed by the mirror, her cries of abandon as she came, his breath thieved as she brought him to climax, with a jerking hand, with an enthusiastic mouth, between her breasts. She would always remember her own joy in Craig's orgasm, the tightening of his stomach, the way he came, shooting thick, hot, endless ropes of come, flooding her nipples, filling her smoldering pussy. As their bodies became familiar friends, they parted with reservation. Julia remembered his cock, turned iron from her manipulation, always ready. She would awake in the morning, sleepy-eyed, the sheets twined around her like a python, sleepy, sated from kinetic sex into the middle of the night. Craig slept late. He had an unfathomable capacity for sleep, when he pried himself from work. He would awaken with Julia's mouth piston-pumping his shaft, looking up at him with mischievous, half-lidded, dreamy eyes. When he was running late for work, he would bring her off before he left, with a sense of religious duty, his tongue working her with vigor, her heels digging into his back, arching off the bed, her hands clutching his hair, calling his name. Those timeless mornings, with the bed lit with a rectangle of sunshine through the window. She wouldn't forget. For Craig, Julia was a woman at the wet end of a thousand of his dreams. She was a small girl, voluminous figure, great tits, a delicious, expressive ass. She had eyes the color of duckponds, frozen in November, dark hair, and skin as smooth as a sea-worn beachrock. Julia was young, funny, bright, playful, and never seemed aware of how the landscape of her body, with its undulating swell of breasts and taunt thighs, could awaken such fervor in a man. Craig would remember her willingness to please, the way her face would flush scarlet in the wake of a pulsing, grinding orgasm, unleashed as she rode her pussy across his stiffened tongue, or ground herself against, him, his hands overfilled with her breasts. They never forayed into the edges of sex, where whips and accessories reside – their sex was too good based on the simplest of elements. He loved the way she kissed him, tongues intertwined, her readiness for sex, the beauty of collapsing on top of her. Julia would make an indelible mark on Craig. Many years later, he would make mental reference of those unforgettable stolen moments, the slow, torturous circles she made on his dick, lying back in his easy chair, pants to his ankles, as she bounced enthusiastically, touching herself, talk urging him to go deeper, harder, slower, to seek out her sensitive places. There were nights that he would not even make it to the bed, such was her hunger for him, to drop his pants, pull his hard dick from his shorts, swabbing her nipples with its tip, taking it deep in her mouth, sliding it between her cleavage, flickering his balls with her tongue. Sometimes, before he could even respond to her, he was off, the blood threading his veins like lava, as he unleashed a torrent of come into her mouth. He was apologetic, she would smile wanly, satisfied. But we've gone too far ahead. The beginnings were suspect. Julia slept in Craig's bed alone before they ever joined in it. That something so beautiful sprang from tainted ground, really, was hard to comprehend. *** "So you are finishing your Masters?" Craig had asked. They were in his kitchen, he was scratching emergency numbers onto a piece of paper. "What's it on?" "Agricultural Export Economies of the Third World," she said, offering a nervous laugh. "As boring as it sounds." Craig smiled. His smile had an assuring charm, Julia decided. "I'm sure it's quite interesting," he said. "Makes for good conversation at cocktail parties. When do you graduate?" "September. Hello freedom," she said. "Hello reality of the workworld outside of college," Craig added. "Indeed." Craig outlined the housesitting rules. The exotic fish would require a complex system of feeding and observation. Beyond that, he seemed comfortable with everything short of a riot in the penthouse apartment. "Whatever is in the fridge is yours," he said, swinging the frigde open. The fridge was stark, a monument to bachelordom, a lot of wine, beer, a virtual army of condiments, no food. "As you can see, work takes me away for travel a lot. I've got some great wine and champagne here, help yourself. You can collect the mail. I've told the doorman you will be here. Never mind the Philistine neighbours, you can play music, set off fireworks indoors, whatever you college kids are doing these days." Julia thought it funny Craig would distance himself from "college kids", he could be no older than 26, just a few years older than her. "I assure you, I'll be on my best behaviour. You have a beautiful place here, I'll treat it like my own," she said. "Great." Craig led her down a hall to an unusual steel doorfront. "Now, behind this door is the reason I need a housesitter. This is a climate controlled storage room, custom built, had a vendor over from Florence to set it up. It contains a pretty significant art collection than I'm rather fond of and am hoping to retire upon when I grey and wither." Julia laughed. "So that's where you keep Dogs Playing Poker?" "I got outbid for that one," Craig said. "But there are some pretty good pieces here. It's not unknown for private collections to be targeted by thieves. So I do like a warm body here when I leave, I could really give a fuck less if you cook the fish up for supper. The door's locked, so you can't get in there, okay? Nothing personal." Julia shrugged. "Sure." "Are you married, have a boyfriend, friends in the city?" he asked. "Not married, I have a few friends who stuck around for the summer," she said. "And define boyfriend." "It doesn't matter," Craig said, dismissively. "I just want you to feel comfortable having guests over. This place is yours for the next five weeks." "I really appreciate it," Julia said. "So nice to be away from dorms and dinners cooked on hotplates." "I've been out of college three years, and I'm still trying to kick my macaroni and cheese dependency," Craig said. He picked up his keys, suitcase, and began threading on his necktie in the mirror. He turned, posing. "How do I look?" "Gorgeous," Julia said, with more admiration than she had wished. "You're too kind. This tie looks like a pizza exploded, in my opinion, but whatever." He was off, holding the door open with his knee, juggling luggage in one hand and place ticket clamped in his mouth. "Mr. D'Amato?" Julia called. "Craig." "Craig. You never told me what you do for a living." "When I'm not exotic dancing with the Chippendales?" he smirked. "Yes." He sighed. "I facilitate mergers and hostile takeovers for massive industrial firms," he said, dispassionately. "In the last six months, I've brokered three deals worth almost $2.5 billion. My commission on each of these deals is seven figures. I am now going to some steaming shithole in Nigeria to negotiate offshore oil interests between grossly corrupt Africans and swaggering, greedy Texans. Then I am going to come home, feed my fish, face myself in the mirror and say, 'I wish I had a job where I did no one any harm on a given business day'." He offered a weak smile, and searched her face for a measure of understanding. "Got it," Julia said. "Happy travels, and I'll see you in five weeks." With that, he was gone in a flourish, hand aloft in a jaunty salute. *** By the time Craig D'Amato left the car park below, Julia had rummaged through half his personal belongings, jumped on his bed with the enthusiasm of a sugar-fueled child, and was wondering whether Julia D'Amato had a sweet tone about it. She had wandered through his massive closet, combing through Egyptian cotton dress shorts, immaculately tailored suits, imported dress shoes, Gucci ties. She then waded through his underwear drawer, got a jolt of excitement upon discovering a roll of condoms, and then scrutinized his photo collection: Craig spelunking with a flashlight, Craig and a Nordic beauty of a blond in a pool in some tropical haven, Craig accepting some sort of award. Julia flopped on the bed and exhaled. That Craig D'Amato, she said to herself, let me dare to dream. *** Three weeks of intensive thesis later. Visions of Craig D'Amato and trade data for bananas destined for US markets were competing for Julia's attention. Craig D'Amato was winning. She fashioned a fantasy of him in the lush terrain of Africa, soiled, sweaty, virile. It was a ludricrous fantasy, and she scolded herself. She thought to call Craig and check in, on the premise of a manufactured crisis – the fridge was dead, the fish were lonely, anything to hear the rich timber of his voice. She couldn't. So she called Shaun. When Craig had asked her romantic status, and she had asked him to define boyfriend, she was thinking of Shaun. Shaun, the doting ex-boyfriend. The ex-boyfriend she had let go a year ago, but still connected with for occasional sex in the absence of time to find a new romantic interest. "Shaun," she said, when he picked up the phone. "Julia! How are you keeping? I haven't heard from you in weeks." "Not bad, I guess. Grinding through the thesis." "Hang in there. I'm sure it's a snap for a bright, beautiful girl like you." "Uh, thanks. What are you doing this evening?" *** As far as a lover went, you could do worse than Shaun, Julia thought. The problem wasn't really with the sex. Their sex was efficient, productive, but lacked a certain primitive spark, or real hunger. Shaun tended to fuck as if he were on film, in a softly-lity B-grade movie where the camera pans to raindrops on the window as things get good. He could bring her off, but his performance was that of a violin virtuoso with only one song in his repertoire. He must have been aching to get laid, because he didn't last very long when he came over that evening. They had a pizza, and clumsily sort of fell into bed in an awkward hug of bramble of buttons and clothes. He was inside her in a second, and she had to focus very hard to try and generate some semblance of an orgasm. She closed her eyes and imagined Craig inside her, it was his skilled hands kneading her breasts, his mouth on her neck. But the fantasy went away, a wisp of a ghost of a dream, as Shaun came to ragged climax and fell atop her, spent. She resolved, before his penis had even stopped twitching, to never do this again. Romeo and Juliet it was not. Later, after Shaun had thankfully departed, looking rueful and seeming to understand he could no longer hang on to the sliver of hope that she would call again, Julia lay back on Craig's Elysian bed, and though of Mr. D'Amato, touching herself, bringing herself to a vigorous orgasm, and calling Craig's name aloud. **** Saturday unfolded, a blank canvas awaiting painting, and no brush to be found. Julia could find no excuse but to work on the thesis, even though the sun was hung hot over the cityscape. She wandered the apartment in her underwear, sipping green tea. Did yoga. Skimmed the paper. Misted the ferns, fed the fish, cut her finger wrestling open a can of tuna for lunch. She went to find a bandaid in the kitchen drawer, and found Craig's passport. Passport? She had an excuse to call Craig's cellphone and did so. "Craig D'Amato," he answered tersely, his voice thick, as if poured through gravel. "Craig, it's Julia calling. I found your passport here, and wanted to make sure you didn't need it or maybe its an expired one or whatever." Craig cleared his throat, "ah, no … I have a diplomatic pass for here, as guest of the government, so I'm immune to the typical customs clearance thing." "Oh, okay. Just wanted to be sure you weren't in some prison somewhere," she said. He sounded distant. "Thanks. Thanks for the thinking of me. How's that thesis coming?" "I'm knee deep in commodities-based natural economies as it relates to income level in the third world economy, since you're so desperate to know." "Yeah, right. Basically, industrialized countries as buyers, shrink margins based on currency discrepancy and expected standards of living, so wages are surpressed." "You're good," she said. "I'm taking notes." "Finally butting the ol' MBA to use. Um, so I'm due back noon next Saturday, so I guess it's best you just leave the key on the counter there." Julia's heart sank. The last month had been anticipating his return. Now she wouldn't see him at all. "Okay," she managed, barely. There was a crackle of dead air. "Julia?" "Yes?" she felt near tears, half of it fueled by anger at herself by letting her imagination swirl her off in a maelstrom of fantasy. "Do well on your thesis. You're a smart woman." "Thanks." "And very beautiful, too." Was he drunk? Julia was flooded with confusion. Then he hung up. *** Julia was rummaging Craig's big, yawning apartment again, looking for answers in his belongings. She found them when she found the tapes. She stuck one in the bedroom VCR and pressed play, watching tape of Craig delivering the Valedictorian's speech upon graduation at Cornell. She flicked in another. Craig skydiving in the Mojave with a group of testosterone-soaked buddies. She flicked in another tape. And stopped. It was a bird's eye, top-down view of Craig, naked, lolling on the bed, absently stroking a straining erection. Then a lithe brunette crawled, catlike, across the bed, taking his dick in her mouth. She watched Craig and the mystery brunette fuck in several Kamasutra-inspired positions, at the end of it, as he thrust into her, he cupped a hand over her mouth to stave off her extreme cries of pleasure. There were more tapes. Craig with different women, a gaunt, long-limbed vampish 30-something, an ebony sultress, an obviously drunken party girl he brought home from a nightblub, doubtless. Despite herself, Julia had her fingers sunk into her pussy. All the women seemed oblivious to the camera. Then Julie looked up. The ceiling fan above the bed was turning lazy circles in the mid-day heat. She saw a solitary glowing red light, no bigger than a pen tip, at its centre. This was where the camera was concealed. Julia left Craig's apartment five days earlier than scheduled. If the fish died, so be it. **** Craig arrived home to the keys on the counter, and, disappointingly, no note from Julia. His overcoat was soaked. The heavens had opened up and unleashed a hellacious rainstorm on the city, with a wind that picked up a scent of dust and soil. The city was as dark as night and cowering from the thunderstorm. Craig took off his clothes, dried his hair a bit, and wrapped himself in a towel. He then went into the room where the art was stored. Craig was not an art collector, nor an art lover. This was his veil. The off-limits room was a hive for the sophisticated camera system he had wired thoughout the apartment, with an expensive extended digital recording device. He sat back in the leather chair, and fast forwarded through the footage. He laughed at Julia leafed through his clothes and personal effects. He found himself smiling as he watched her mime-dancing in his bedroom, using a hairbrush for a microphone. He was fascinated as he watched her touching herself in the moonlight. God, she was such a beauty, how had he ever become so lucky to get five weeks footage of such a subject? Then the doorbell rang. Howard the Doorman always buzzed up. Who was at the door? He shut the art room and locked it, strode to the door, and peered into the eyehole. It was Julia. He tightened his towel. He let her in. She was soaked with rain, her clothes were drenched and her hair hung in wet tangles at her eyes. She strode past him, chattering and arms folded. "My God, you're soaked. Let me get you a …" "I want to see it," she demanded, in a mechanical voice. "See what?" he asked, getting a robe to cover himself up. "The tapes," she said. "I want to see the tapes." Craig signed, leaned against the chair, rubbed his temples. "How do you know about the tapes?" "What does it matter? I saw the camera. I saw the tapes." Craig flopped into the chair. "I'll explain …" "You'd best." "Can you sit down then, and here me out." "I don't know if I could believe a solitary word you'll say." "I can't fault you for that, Julia." "How could I? Who are you? Is there anything real about you? Normally, I wouldn't care, but I'm the one who's been well, violated, here." "I understand." "I don't want your empathy," she shouted. "I want to hear the truth. Are you a pornographer?" Craig groaned. "God, no." "How many girls did you audition?" Craig winced with the word audition. "They were not auditions. I wanted a housesitter who was well … I don't know, I was looking for an extremely attractive young woman who made an interesting subject." "Subject!? I'm a subject? You're a phone call away from a court case, here." "Please. I'm not a pornographer. I'm not a criminal. I'm just … I'm just a guy with a big sexual appetite who has a tinge of a voyeur's streak I guess. Please try and understand." "I though you were into big mergers." "I am," he said. He went and fetched his wallet and produced a business card and handed it to her. Craig D'Amato, Senior Partner, Whittingham Financial Services. He swept his hand around the apartment. "I couldn't afford this apartment on a pornographer's salary. I do exactly as I told you for a living, but I haven't told you the truth about my personal pursuits." Waking Up Hard "Whatever," she said. "So how many more are there like me?" "Like what?" "Women whose trust and privacy you've breached." "I guess I've filmed women without their consent before, in, a, uh, sexual context. But I never filmed something like you before, a housesitter. You were a unique situation." "I'm terribly flattered," Julia scoffed. "Julia, listen. I need to be sincere about an awful situation. And sorry is just too small a word here, so the truth is going to have to do. I never went to Nigeria. I went to a hotel just outside of town. This was pre-meditated, I admit. I put an ad at the college for a housesitter, and you answered it, and I was totally infatuated with you. So I've lied, been dishonest, and hurt you, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I can give you the tapes back. I haven't watched them all yet." Outside, the thunder rolled ominously. "Watched them all yet?" "Well, you know," he said, ruefully. "I've watched a bit." Julia through up her hands, exasperated. "But Julia, not a lot, just a glimpse, you know …" "Oh, just a glimpse I feel better." "I won't lie, I've been waiting to watch that tape since the minute I shut that door to leave on my, er, trip. And let me say I was not disappointed." "Oh my god!" she cried, incredulous. "Now you're hitting on me? Do you expect me to come over now and fuck your brains out?" Craig tried to abort the smile growing on his face. "I would trade all the video footage in the world for that to happen, but I have a strong suspicion that will never, ever happen." "You're right," she said, quietly. "And I don't think there's much left to say." She thought it over for a second, then got up abruptly to leave. It felt like a lover's quarrel, but they were strangers, forced together my the intimacy created by Craig's lies. "You can't go back out in that rain," he said. She shot him a withering look. "Julia, I'm not going to do anything unsavory here. I've done enough damage. Stay here until the rain lets up. We don't even have to speak. I can leave if you want." **** They talked through the night, and shared his bed, and a whole lot of uncertainty and tension, drifting off to sleep, emotionally spent. Julia felt she was cheating herself, but was finding it hard to maintain her anger. Craig awoke to the smell of Julia's hair, the taste of damp skin. They kissed in the dead of night. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, bit her lower lip, their tongues touched. She moaned and pressed her full breasts against his chest, her nipples hard beneath the fabric of the t-shirt he gave her. He trailed his tongue down her neck, licked her cleavage, let his hands slide under the sheer fabric of her panties, squeezing the roundness of her ass. They kissed hungrily for an hour, his cock hard against her stomach, her panties soaked with anticipation. They drifted to sleep panting with longing, and unfulfilled yearning. The next morning, they awoke and resumed kissing, she astride him, painfully aware of the erection throbbing against her. He led her to the shower. They kissed hungrily, Craig cupping her breast and letting his tongue spin lazy circles across her nipples. She soaped his cock in a vigorous lather, generating an intensely hard erection, fondling his heavy balls. They didn't have sex. Julia wanted to – a dull, dizzying ache had begun between her legs and snaked its way through her entire body – but Craig wanted to show restraint; an expression of his regret. They went to the beach and lazed the day away, took in an awful romantic comedy with a plot so hackneyed it was barely worth watching. It mattered little, as they passed the time with each other. By the time the lead actors of the film had overcome their disdain for each other and were moving toward the inevitable romantic climax, Craig had his hand deep into Julia's jeans, and had sought out the hard bud of her clit. Julia had freed Craig's dick and was jerking it with hands slick with popcorn butter. They stopped prematurely when the titles rolled and lights came on. This went on for three days. On the fourth day, with Julia absently eating Fruit Loops over the Sunday paper, she caught Craig starting at her. She had her hair pulled into a bun held by a decorative clip, and Craig thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, bathed in morning light. "Julia, I think I've been a good boy, a real gentleman these last few days," he began. Julia raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Good boy? I think you almost penetrated me at the restaurant last night." "Well, that's true," he admitted. "I think we both know I'm on a bit of a torturous probationary period, given my past mistakes." She laughed. "Indeed." "And I was hoping, based on exceptional conduct and heart-felt remorse for making spank-the-monkey tapes of you, that we could perhaps move to the, er, next step of our relationship. If you're ready of course." "And what's this next step you speak of," she chided, knowing damn well what he spoke of. "Sex," he said, matter of factly, "I need to be inside you, to taste you. If you say know, I have a convenient balcony I can leap off." "Well," she said. "Are you ready for the next step?" Craig stood up from the kitchen table, and opened his bathrobe. A mighty erection stood off at an angle from his stomach. Julia whistled playfully, "Craig, that is a beautiful, majestic thing. A women could take a great deal of pleasure from that." Then she looked backed at the crossword puzzle. "Six letter word for 'to engage in debate.' "Julia," he moaned. "They're getting blue." She laughed and set down the paper, came over and kissed him full on the mouth, looking up to him with wide eyes. "Let's take the next step, she whispered." With his dick in one hand, she led him to the bedroom. **** Taunt skin and hot breath. Wandering fingers snaking between legs. His mouth peppering kisses on her collarbone. Slow burn in the midday sun. His head between her legs, she boldly splaying her pussy open with her fingers, urging his tongue up, over and around her clitoris. He took it in his mouth and sucked gently, his tongue working geographic shapes across it. Her body trembling, quaking, her hands seizing fistfuls of blanket, her back arching. Then the wait. Slow entry, filling her an inch at a time, fighting an urge to come. His hands reaching below to cup her ass, to draw her closer. He propped himself on his hands and sank deep into her with long, broad, strokes, his dick filling her ache. He fucked her slowly toward orgasm, withdrew, and kissed her, reentered, began shafting her again, more slowly this time. She grew frustrated, grinding against him, urging a faster speed. He held back with difficulty. She pushed him off, mounted him, lowered herself onto his length with a cry. Then she was off. Craig bit his lip and gripped the headboard, and lay flat as a board, the longing in his groin threatening to leap beyond control. She began shimmying on his dick with a lithe athletic motion, leaning back to grasp his shins, her breasts thrust skyward, moaning. He pressed his thumb to her clitoris, then sat upright, her nipples bursting into his mouth, his other hand squeezing her ass, pulling her up and down. She came, mightily, her teeth in his shoulder, and rolled off spent, half-laughing. "Oh my god," she said. "Just. Give. Me a second. I need a second to recooperate." He kissed her cheek. "That was a long time coming." "I was a long time coming," she said. He went to the kitchen and brought her some water. Then lay down, took her in his arms. This was how their day went. They had sex again, he sitting Indian style, Julia riding him, her heels into the mattress for purchase, watching him in the bureau mirror. He loomed over her, her legs spread in a wide V, slender ankles in his hands, bucking into her, pushing his cock in and up, caressing her pussy walls. As her face grew flushed he dropped to his knees and licked her to orgasm. He still had not met climax himself. Do onto others, he told himself. The day went on, they fill into each other's bodies like old familiar friends. They had launch on his balcony. Drank some wine. Watched the news to try and connect with the world that was moving on without them that day. It didn't last. By supper he had Julia bent double like safety pin on the living room floor, heaving himself into her, her gorgeous ass resonating with his thrusts, her hands splayed on the floor for balance. She disengaged, pushed him back on the sofa, and knelt between his legs. She took his cock in her hand, measuring it with her eyes. The tip was swelled to bursting, leaking a pearl of pre-come ejaculate from its head, all sinew and muscle and inflammation. She made an omega of her hand, and skimmed it lightly back and forth his shaft, looking up with devilish eyes. "Oh, baby," she cooed. "You've been so good to me. You need to come. This isn't healthy." Craig moaned, he couldn't even clear his throat enough to respond. Julia cupped his balls with her free hand, and quickened her stokes, twisting her hand slightly as it reached his tip, slick with the fluids of their union. "Let me make you come, baby. You've made me come all day. Let me see you come, do you want me to take in it my …" Julia never got a chance. Craig let out something between a moan and a scream that could unsettle the neighbours, and his cock shot a great rope of steaming sperm. "Oh my god, baby," Julia whispered, watching it tremble and spurting repeatedly, coating her fingers, "Oh my god, that's a lot of come. God, you deserved this for fucking me so good today." **** Julia just could not muster any focus on her studies. She tossed Economic Dynamics of Latin America on the bedside table. "Craig, I can't study if you're down there working your magic on me," she said. Craig looked up from between her spread legs, smiled. "I'm trying to ease your stress and increase your focus," he murmured, tonguing her affectionately. "Studies show you ability grasp and retain complex information is heightened if you're receiving good oral sex at the time." Julia let out a throaty moan. "It is good oral sex. I think I should recipricote." She turned around and lowered her pussy onto his face, slid the tip of his penis into her mouth, began circling the tip playfully. "God, baby, if I die now, it'll be a happy departure," Craig said. Julia was enamored with the brazen image they created in the bureau mirror, the way her big tits brushed his abdomen, a proud dick in her mouth, Craig's tongue engineering an incredible heat inside her. She had unwittingly become a voyeur herself. On her urging, he had mounted an enormous mirror above the bed. Julia loved to watch him fuck her, her ankles looped around his back, his straining shoulder muscles. Craig's dick was surging into her mouth as she began to quiver, flooding his face with her juice. "Let me taste you come," she murmured, "let me feel you explode in my mouth." Craig needed no further encouragement, pumping jet after jet of his seed into her moth. **** They were lying sated on the hammock Craig had on his balcony, her head on his chest, swaying slowly. Heat simmering over the city, setting the skyline into a wavy shimmer. The low groan of thinning post-rush traffic. "There are lots of things I love about you," she said. "What's not to love?" "Shut up. I love the way you smile at me." "I can't help but smile at you," he offered. "I love the way you lavish me with attention in public. You make me feel like the most wanted woman in the world." "You are." "I love that you can't cook, but you try your best." "Are you talking about those hockey puck pancakes again?" She laughed. "But Craig, seriously. I really do love what you do for my body. I feel awakened with you, like there's this little flicker of flame in me, and when you breathe on it, I just combust. I love that you know when to tease me, and love me slow, and I love that you can sense when I need to be fucked hard and fast." "What can I say, it's a gift." "I love your cock," she went on, giving it a friendly squeeze. "I love the way it speaks to me, sings inside me, never disappoints me. I love sucking it, and touching it, and I love it inside me." "How do you love it inside you?" Craig asked. "Mmm. Sometimes I like it when you just use the tip, just a fraction of an inch, and you swirl your hips in slow arcs, you know." "That's my move," Craig replied. "I'm thinking of getting it patented and releasing a how-to instructional video for the move." She laughed. "But I also like riding you, leaning back, letting you fill me up. I like it with you on top, when you shift your body up over mine and we get some friction going." "That is good," he agreed. "I like our lazy morning sex, when you wake up hard, and just sort of slide it inside me, no hurry, no rush. I love that you always wake up hard. And I love your dick before your come, the way it just grows out, and your muscles tighten and your mouth opens and you moan my name. And I like you fucking me hard doggystyle. It's a totally different sensation." "I love fucking you like that. You just have such a beautiful ass, I could bite it. Or frame it or something." She laughed. "And what else do you love, Mr. D'Amato?" He thought seriously about it. "I love the way your ride my dick. I love the way you touch yourself, the way you come. I love your big, gorgeous tits, the taste of your skin after you've gotten out of the shower or went running. I love that I come so hard with you I feel part of me dies. The way the skin above your nose makes little hyphens when you're confused. I love watching you do yoga in that sexy stretchy outfit. And your eyes, I can see such beauty in your eyes, everything good in my life is held in you eyes." "You're sweet," she said. "Funny, though, that we don't love each other." "Love's a big word to use," he said. "And passion and great sex and companionship don't have to add up to love." "Weird, isn't it?" "It certainly is. Kinda sad, too." She kissed him tenderly. "Let's not be sad. Let's go inside. All this sex talk has me scorching." "And what do you have in mind, dear?" She contemplated. "I thought I'd suck your big dick until its ready to burst, then I want you to go to work on me. Then we can fuck. Me on top first, though." He nuzzled her neck. "But can I screw you from behind after?" "I practically insist," she said, in a royal British accent. "And can I shoot my load on your tits?" "Baby," she said softly, "anytime." **** Work was becoming an afterthought for Craig. He went into the office less and less, but he held the chips as a senior partner at 26. "I've turned from workaholic to sexaholic," he pronounced to Julia. Craig said his past success with the company meant he could essentially retire tomorrow, and they'd still keep him on retainer. He would take conference calls from home now, hooking up with partners in Zurich and Vancouver and talking mergers, escalating share value, and capital assets. Julia made taking these calls from home terribly difficult. Her habit was to blow him as he participated in the calls. She would dance around his home office, squeezing her breasts together, blowing in his ear, leaning over his desk with her legs spread, her gorgeous, ample ass sprung invitingly, urging him inside. More than once, he was proving the consummate multi-tasker, talking prospects with the phone cradled to his ear, while his free hands seized the sexy flare of Julia's hips and pumped himself into oblivion. Work had never been so productive. **** They made a sex video, on Julia's urging. Craig had dismantled his home-voyeur kit entirely, so they used a handheld camera mounted on a tripod. Julia dressed for the occasion, stockings, stiletto heals, fire-hydrant red lipstick, cleavage pushing out to freedom from a lacy bra. Craig melted when he saw her, thieved of breath. "Appearing in her second major motion picture," Julia laughed as she bounced into the bedroom, striking a saucy Marilyn Monroe-inspired pose. The sex was good, a bit theatrical with the omnipresent Cyclops eye of the camera. Later in the evening, Julia wanted to watch it, so Craig popped the tape in the bedroom VCR. The light was dicey and a bit grainy, their flesh cast grey, and Craig's head was cut off the screen when he knelt erect to fuck her. Still, it was a good show. Julia thoroughly enjoyed it. "It's great that you get to see this," Craig said. His fingers were sliding shallowly in and out of her pussy as he watched Julia ride him on the television. "If anything, you can see how beautiful you are in my eyes." "God, my tits do bounce around a lot," she said, a little annoyed. "It's beautiful," he assured her. They ended up fucking watching themselves. Julia made a game out of trying to time their orgasms with the tape. She got on top of him, facing the other way, so they could both see the TV. Craig was more interested in the real thing, the way Julia's heart-shaped ass plunged and resonated on his stiffened, shiny shaft. He pulled her back, took her earlobe in his ears. "You like this baby?" he demanded in her ear. "Oh, fuck, Craig I love it." "You like my dick in your pussy?" "God, baby, yes." "You're so wet, baby. Your juices are spilling over my balls. Your soaked. And your pussy's getting tighter by the minute." "Baby, you're gonna make me come. You're gonna make me come so hard." "Come for me, baby. Come over all that stiff cock." "Oh god, baby, pound my pussy. Make me come. "You love my cock, don't you?" he whispered. "Oh God, yes." "Say it." "I love your cock. I love your cock. Oh, Craig, I'm gonna come. Oh baby, I' gonna come so fucking hard …" She did, in a seismic shiver, forgetting to time her climax with the video, which had ended on gone to snow. Julia sucked Craig's fingers as he knelt over her, stroking his shaft, while she squeezed her tits, gleaming with the sweat of their lovemaking, together. He threw his head back, jaw clenched, and showered Julia's hard nipples with pools of come. "That's a wrap," she laughed. **** Julia presented her thesis to great applause. She accepted a starting job as a research assistant in Boston, and her relationship with Craig sputtered to a dismal end. She was staring at his aquarium, one evening, two weeks before leaving, watching the unblinking fish. "They have a memory that lasts 10 seconds," she told Craig. "Every 10 seconds, they are reborn into a new environment. That ornamental castle and treasure chest is a surprise every time." "It must be nice," Craig said. "So they never know their captive. They're trapped and happy as little imps." Craig was quiet. "We're winding down, aren't we Julia?" "Yes, we are winding down." "I feel this strange void growing in me." "Me too. I think this is the void we filled in each other when we met." Julia turned and faced him, outlined by the alkaline glow of the aquarium. Her face looked to be on the way to tears, but never quite got there. She had rigid inner emotional discipline that betrayed her bedroom honesty and abandon. "Well," Craig said, "we have a week left before you move, we can make the most of it." "I guess," Julia said, unconvincingly. They had good sex that night, lingering and lengthy, filled with a yearning of that to be lost, that which would be eaten by the weeds of time and familiarity, regardless. They awoke with Julia's hand on Craig's dick, as had become her habit. But she awoke and left, bidding a hasty adieu, saying she had to pack, would be back later. Craig wondered would he ever see her again. Waking Up Hard "Thanks for the sex, Mr. D'Amato," she said from the doorway. Craig wondered he meant the evening's sex, or the sex of the last two months. "Julia? Before you go." "What?" "I'm sorry for what I did when we met, and very grateful for what you've done for me since." She tried to smile, but it was a counterfeit smile, a smile that was dragged down on its ends with anchors of sorrow. "I'll be back tonight," she said, her voice choked with emotion. She didn't that night, and Craig was not the least surprised, but gravely saddened. **** When Craig awoke, alone, he was hard. He could feel the weight of it on his hips. He ate a cold breakfast. He read the Financial Times. His penis felt like a granite column, stretching upward, past his navel. It was like this all day. He felt like jerking off. Three strokes, to release, and normality. But Julia might drop in. He did not want Julia arrive to find him with anything less than the faculty for peak performance. Would she slide it in her mouth, ride it with abandon, furnish it with saliva and sweat and come and squirm. Would she, would she, would she, come? (Would he?) The sun sank in a chartreuse farewell salute over the city, giving way to a night peppered with stars. His shaft was rigid, defiant, numb. He waited for her knock on the door, the careless toss of her keys onto the counter, her bounding over to kiss him. He wanted to see himself set against those silvered eyes, that supple skin. He crawled into bed, praying, praying with a shrunken heart to an unknown God, that she would come tonight. Sheaves of moonlight poured into the room and illuminated the bed they set ablaze so many evenings. She would not come tonight. Nor would she ever come again. Craig D'Amato would carry her memory with a vigilance, past many future lovers, and the inevitable turns of life. Happiness is hard to hold, he thought. And when he awoke the next day, and every day after that Julia's plane split the heavens and ferried her off to a new life, he would be hard.