Monday, August 9, 2010

Home For Dinner

He quickly downed the whiskey in his glass. There was no harm in meeting someone for a drink, right? Just a quick drink and then he could get home. He looked at his watch; 6:45. She said she’d meet him at 6:30. Just one more drink and then he’d bail. He was about to call the bartender over when he felt a hand on his shoulder. A soft sultry voice reached his ear.

“Sorry I’m late sweetie, but traffic was a bear.”

He turned towards the voice and smiled in spite of his nerves. She was tiny, about five two, with long, curly, red hair falling past her shoulders. Large round breasts filled her shirt; full, luscious buttocks were encased in a tight pair of jeans. She smiled back at him as she sat down.

“Drink?” he managed to get out as the bartender arrived, painfully aware of the tightness in his groin.

“White Russian, thanks.”

He ordered one more for himself, doing his best not to spill it when it arrived. There was calmness to her, a confidence that most women his age didn’t have. They sat and talked, each having several more drinks; he forgot to worry about the time.
After a few hours she stretched her arms above her head and brought them down around his shoulders. Her mouth was next to his ear.

“Can you give me a ride home? I don’t think I can walk in this condition.”

He pulled her closer, rubbing against her, hoping she noticed how aroused he was.

“Sure, just give me directions.”

She smiled a wicked little smile.

“I’ll tell you exactly where I want you to take me.”

They drove to her apartment; he parked his car at the curb as she gathered her bag.

“I had a nice time tonight,” she said, “We should do it again. Real soon.”

He leaned over and kissed her, letting his fingers wrap themselves in her curls as his tongue was eagerly received into her mouth. She pulled away, letting her nose brush against his.

“Do you want to come up?”

He looked at his watch; it was late, he shouldn’t.

“Yea, sure, I’d like that”.

He followed her into the apartment, not quite sure what he was going to do.

“Sit down and relax, babe, I’ll be right out.”

She disappeared into the other room. He removed his jacket and planted himself on the couch; she came back in from the bedroom wearing only shorts and a thin t-shirt, bra less. In the fading light he thought he glimpsed jewellery encasing each nipple. She sat next to him, almost on his lap, and let her hand brush his hair back.

“Hey,” she whispered, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He put his arm around her, trying to decide his next move. Should he be the aggressor, or let her? She snuggled closer, letting her hand casually drop into his lap. He turned his body to her, gasping slightly as he felt her lower his fly. He closed his eyes as her hand encased his cock; she gently began to stroke it, sighing softly. She played with him for a while, alternating between slow, soft strokes and rapid strong grips.

Suddenly she began to kiss it, first the head, then letting her tongue flicker and lick his shaft like a delicious ice cream cone. He pulled his pants down, and she repositioned herself, kneeling next to him, her hair behind her ears as she took him all the way into her mouth to the back of her throat. She was like a python, sucking and milking his cock, still using her hand to rub the base of his shaft. He let his hand slip into her shorts, grabbing her ass, letting his fingers probe her. She sat up, pulling off her shirt, exposing her breasts; he leaned over and began to suckle her nipples, continuing to let his fingers dance across her. She kissed his head, moaning softly the deeper his fingers entered her. She bent her mouth to his ear.

”Eat me.”

He lay down on the couch, and she positioned herself over his mouth. He kissed and sucked her, treating her like a succulent mango. She leaned forward, bracing herself against the arm of the couch. Suddenly her body shuddered, and he tasted a sweet drop of honey on the tip of his tongue. He wiggled out from under her, kissing the back of her neck as he entered her. She threw her head back against him, rocking her hips back and forth, his one hand holding onto her hip while the other grabbed her breast. He couldn’t believe he had such staying power, wasn’t sure if it was from the perfection of the act or the illicitness of it. Frankly, he didn’t care, all he knew was she was the best fuck he’d had in a long time. They changed position once more, this time she rode him, cow girl style, their tongues deep in each other’s mouth. Finally he came; he grabbed her ass, biting hard into her neck. She cried out, pain mixed with pleasure.

They sat together, panting for breath, cradling each other. He went to lift his head to kiss her again when he felt a sharp stabbing pain at the base of his neck, an ice pick piercing his brain. Death was instantaneous. She stood up, and walked into the kitchen, pulling the ingredients for a salad from the fridge as the sound of a circular saw whirred in the living room. Grabbing a bowl, she placed a spring mix of greens inside, adding some strawberries, fresh chunks of blue cheese and walnuts, and then tossed it with raspberry vinaigrette. Arranging her dinner on a plate, she grabbed a fork and two napkins and returned to the living room just as her mate finished cutting the top of the skull. Grabbing a blunt edged knife, it flipped the top of the cranium off like the lid on a paint can. Drooling at the fresh exposed brain, it dived in face first, chomping and slurping. She rolled her eyes in disgust as it looked up at her and smiled, its face covered in blood and grey matter. She flung a napkin at it.

“Wipe your face, dear. You’ve smutz all over it.”

©2010 VL Sheridan

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