The West End
Long Branch, New Jersey
Valentine’s Day Evening
He thought he’d messed up. Big time. The question had come out of his mouth before he’d thought it through. But he’d seen the way the men were looking at her in the restaurant. He’d seen their unhidden desire, the raw lust in their eyes as they’d gazed at his wife. He’d seen the women too – the wives and girlfriends and lovers – glaring at Aurélle with their expressions dripping bitter jealousy instead of enjoying their Valentine’s Day dinners.
Even in her overcoat his wife exuded sexuality, so everyone watched as the hostess escorted them to their table. All eyes watched her stride in her four-inch red heels. They gaped at her sensuous sway, at the curve of her strong dancer’s calves, and at the erotic arch of her feet in her heels.
They watched as he’d helped his wife out of her coat; he could have sworn that a hush came over the room. He knew some men had to shift in their chairs as their erections came to life when they saw Aurélle’s beauty revealed in her black belted dress…a red belt at her waist that showed that she had no waist…at the way her round hips and bottom flared out from that non-existent waist…at the split in her skirt that opened as she sat down, showing a glimpse of the pathway to a paradise they would never know.
He’d seen them all looking, the men with longing and the women hating. But what had gotten to him…what had made him ask Aurélle the question…were the men. If they looked at her this way in a restaurant, then on her night job at Shadows…
“Do they ever offer you money to do more than dance?” he’d asked as they were finishing their meal.
It was a question that had to cross the mind of most men involved with a woman who danced for other men’s pleasure. But it was a wrong question and a stupid question for him to ask. He was a man. He knew how men thought. Of course they’d offered money to the most desirable woman most of them would ever see. So the pointless question had pointed to the deeper question. That was why Aurélle had answered him with a look of surprise and hurt.
He’d apologized as he drove them home. She’d said that it was okay. But he knew his wife. He knew it wasn’t okay. He’d hurt her by asking the question.
He thought he’d ruined Valentine’s Day.
When they got home she’d presented him with a bottle of wine given to them as a gift from Amarante, her employer at Shadows. The wine was a hybrid of the wine created by Aurélle’s grandfather in Louisiana. Amarante had had it analyzed and modified into her own exclusive brand. The wine was called Passion’s Nectar.
Aurélle had told him to sit down on the sofa as she poured glasses for them. Then she put on the music and did what she does so well.
So now Gordon sat in his living room, watching his wife dance for him to a song called “The Principles of Lust” by Enigma. He watched as she gave him his own private striptease.
He hadn’t seen her get dressed before they went out. So he was surprised to see that beneath her black belted dress she wore only a thin ruby chain around her hips. A red satin heart hung from the chain, covering her treasure. She danced for him in red four-inch heels and a red satin heart. It was her Valentine’s Day gift to him. But while her body whispered desire, her face still showed her hurt.
He wanted to say something to her to make things right. But the wine--Passion’s Nectar—was so potent. His mind felt enclosed in fog. He couldn’t focus enough to come up with the right words.
And the wine had another effect, so much more powerful than her uncle’s homemade wine. As he watched his wife dance, the thing between his legs thickened and lengthened until it felt like a throbbing shaft of concrete.
Aurélle was watching him as she danced. The hurt was still in her eyes. Her sensuous mouth was turned down in a pout. Occasionally she’d move to the coffee table; take a sip from her own glass and then move back to dance some more. Gordon wondered what effect the wine was having on her, how much it was boosting her desire.
The song ended.
She stood looking at him, her luscious bare breasts heaving, her eyes blazing now, the hurt replaced by something else.
“Take it out,” she said. It wasn’t a request, but a command.
He struggled because he was so hard, but managed to release himself from the confines of his clothing. The shaft of concrete stood straight up, throbbing in the air.
“Look at me,” she said.
He was already looking.
She reached back, unfastened the chain, tossed away the red satin heart. She stepped out of her heels.
She said, “Look at this body.”
He kept looking.
“Don’t you know me?” she asked. “Don’t you know who I am? Don’t you know what I am?”
“I’m sorry, Baby…”
She said, “This isn’t my body, Gordon. It’s not mine to give to anyone. This body belongs to you, and any pleasure it gives or receives is at your whim.” She held up her left hand so that he could see her wedding ring. “That’s what this ring means.”
She came to him then, stepped around the coffee table and stood over him, looked down at him…at the shaft of concrete throbbing up at her. “And that belongs to me,” she said. “It’s mine and no one else’s, to do with as I will.”
He reached for her, but she moved away, out of his reach.
“Don’t ever hurt me like that again, Gordon. Don’t.”
“And don’t apologize again. Now come to bed and bring me my property. And come and claim yours.”
Aurélle turned away and went to their bedroom.
Gordon got up and followed, his wife’s property leading the way.
© 15 February 2009
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Published by Tara Eames at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Tara Eames
“See you at the bar!” Jess bellowed at Paris. Paris lacked enthusiasm at this idea but felt she should go along, especially if it kept Jess quiet. She made her way down to the office shower in the basement and switched it on. Whilst waiting for it to warm up she peered at herself in the mirror. She looked tired but it wouldn’t take much to put that straight. She threw her loose amber curls into a bun and stepped into the steaming shower. She smoothed the soaking suds into her body and she began to feel alive again, massaging the lather into her hips and breasts. The steam reigniting her skin and mind. Upon reapplying her make-up she felt confident in herself again and ready to socialise with work colleagues. Her deep, dark marble eyes shone wickedly and the slick red lip stick she applied reinforced that even more. She didn’t know why she was bothering to make the effort, there was no one to impress, especially if the dullard IT crew would be in attendance.
She walked into the room, scanning for Jess. She saw the back of the head of the person Jess was talking to and she knew: it was him - Declan. She hadn’t seen him for over a year and no, she still wasn’t over him. They had been together for eight months when he had suddenly decided he just had to go travelling. Within a few weeks it was ‘Goodbye’ and she hadn’t heard from him since. Just as her mind raced Jess caught her eye, and with that Declan turned around. “Shit”, she thought. She strutted over – curls bouncing, pencil skirt skimming her curvaceous hips and the black stilettos with the thin silver heel giving that extra boost that she was appreciative for at this moment.
“Declan! Hi...” She felt her face overcompensating for the anger she was trying to keep at bay within, “How was your holiday?”
She knew that would piss him off. Jess could sense the tension and knew only too well that Paris had been waiting for this interaction, running it through her head for the past year – it was definitely time to leave them to it –
“Just going to speak to Julie from accounts…”
Neither of them noticed Jess’ departure. Paris and Declan were like two cats in a stand-off – proud, antagonizing but quietly scared inside. Paris was relieved she decided to take that shower and even more relieved she decided to wear the bra that gave her already bountiful breasts a little bit more bounce.
“You’re still angry then?” Declan dumbly declared. How dare he? She thought.
“What do you think? You made my life a nightmare, it was hell at work, everyone whispering about me and how you’d left me. You acted like an arsehole. Couldn’t even pick up the phone to me or send me a text? What sort of man are you? I just hope your holiday was worth it.”
She was on a one way train to fury and didn’t intend to give him any relief. But she felt empowered by the way his eyes continually shifted from her eyes to her breasts. She came in close to him, he could smell her familiar perfume and the scent of her hair; he felt himself harden. “I don’t know whether to fuck you or thump you”. She stared into his eyes and he wondered if she had the power to burn them out; he had never seen her like this before.
“That’s why I’m here; I’ve felt so guilty about it since I left. I knew you’d be out for the team drinks tonight and...” He sounded pathetic, he knew he did and she loved seeing his weakness. Paris had waited a long time and she deserved this. She couldn’t help but noticed he was mounting in his trousers and it irritated her that she too was turned on by his arousal. She could feel the familiar stir in her pussy. She bit her lip when she looked into his blue eyes – out of frustration? Arousal? Uncertainty? She didn’t know. But she knew she wasn’t ready to end this conversation.
“Look…” Declan said sternly, growing in confidence, “we clearly have a lot to talk about..”
“Oh you think?”, Paris interjected. “Now? After how long? You turn up on a Thursday, after work, whilst I’m out with work mates having a drink after a hard day, the same work people that you also worked with and were aware of our relationship – you want to talk about it now? You are unreal”.
She was infuriated, putting both hands on her hips, demanding answers with her eyes.
“Come back to mine and we can talk”. He touched her arm and again she felt her pussy ignite. It incensed that he still had this effect on her.
“Well considering you’ve fucked up my evening, you better make this good”.
There was absolutely no way she was calming down anytime soon and doubtful the night would recover after this, she relented. They jumped into the taxi and took the short journey to Declan’s flat. The taxi was wired with electric atmosphere – resentment, fire, tension. They sat in silence. Declan rubbed his rough stubble with his thick fingers; Paris knew he was thinking. He stared down at her legs in a daze. Knowing he had his eyes on her made her feel charged – she still had it. She stretched, arching her back, releasing her shoulders from the strain of the day and subtly arranging her blouse to hug her breasts, whilst Declan unsuccessfully suppressed his swelling cock. She returned to the window, smiling to herself.
Upon reaching the flat Declan cluttered around the kitchen, gathering two glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge. “He’s thought this through”, she mused in a slight smugness to herself. He walked towards her, reaching out to hand her a glass of wine. Instinctively, she kicked her foot out, tapping his balls, bringing him down do his knees wincing.
“Don’t think that a glass of wine will help you to win points” Paris spat at him.
As she did so the wine tumbled down her cleavage, the glass bouncing off her thigh, tumbling to the ground, sending wine trickling down her smooth, tanned legs. Declan rushed to the ground the retrieve the glass and urgently tried to wipe the wine from her legs with his hands. Her nipples peaked at the touch of his warm hands on her, causing a sweet stir in her knickers. With her legs apart and Declan clutching them pathetically she felt majestic.
“You can stay down there…” she said, resting one foot on his shoulder, “…until I tell you when you’re finished”.
She saw the outline of his erection through his jeans. He ran his tongue up her legs, taking in the wine and cupping her buttocks in his hands, kneading them. She opened her legs a little further. He inhaled her and nipped at her inside thigh on exhalation. The surprise caused her to grab his hair, pulling him closer to where she was really wanted him. Through her skirt he bit through at her mound, causing her to groan. “This is what I’ve missed”, he snarled.
“I didn’t say you could talk; I’m in charge here”, she pressed her heel further into his shoulder, the muscles tensing in Paris’ legs. He planted kisses up her thighs, letting out a resonant growl, growing all the while. She took a deep breath and unbuttoned her blouse, releasing it to the ground. He unfastened his belt buckle and pulled the zip down on his jeans. The anticipation drove her crazy. Pulling down his jeans and tight black boxers, his cock bounced free. She was filled with anticipation. Little by little he inched her skirt up until it was bunched around her hips, revealing her lacy knickers. He was on his knees, looking up at her, tugging at his cock – she had waited for this and was reveling in it. He pulled her black laced knickers to one side and breathed on her clit. Sending her wild, she threw her head back, her hands raking through her hair, leaving a curl coiling round a nipple. He clawed his nails down her buttocks as he pulled her into him. One hand moving rhythmically along his stiff shaft and the other circling her clit, again blowing ever-so-softly against her. She wasn’t going to be teased like this; she pulled his mouth onto where she wanted him and let out a gasp. He lapped at her pussy, long and deliberate licks, simultaneously pumping his cock.
“Suck my pussy”, she said through gritted teeth – her anger and frustration manifesting through arousal. Her juices were all over his face and she loved it, driving his head harder into her. His finger probed at her hole, she moaned as she looked down and saw Declan’s pre-cum glistening on the head of his dick. He smoothed it around his head and it fuelled her fire even more.
He inserted a finger inside her,
“Not enough, try harder” she demanded.
With that he entered two fingers inside her. She repositioned herself so her stiletto heel was spiking on his back, giving him better access to pummel her now deliciously wet cunt, deep like she deserved it. She pushed him off with her heel. “Get on the bed, you bastard”.
“Paris, we don’t need to resort to…”
Suddenly Paris had him by the balls and he took a sharp intake of air,
“I’ll be the judge of what we will and won’t resort to. Get on the bed”, she retorted, releasing him.
He removed his jeans and pants that had gathered at his knees. The arrogance and lack of urgency he exuded provoked her even more. He lay back on the bed and she stepped onto it in her heels, raising herself above him. Statuesque, intimidating, liberated. Starting with her heels either side of his feet she walked up the bed unhurriedly, stopping with a stiletto either side of his head. She turned around, his quickened breath the only audible sound in the room, and lowered herself onto his face.
“Now suck me like you mean it”, Paris demanded with a severe tone of authority.
He licked slowly, he wasn’t about to give in this easily, even though he was desperate for her to touch his cock. She leaned forward and tapped his balls, causing him to wince. He then licked a long lick, slow, teasingly. She let out a scream and pushed her hips into his face. Gradually he lapped quicker. She ground down on his face, engaging with the rhythm of his now furious tongue. Long, intentional and relentless. She clawed along his legs and up to his balls, along his shaft. He was struggling. As she fucked his tongue she leaned her body over his and put her face to his rigid prick, taking it in her mouth teasing him; alluring him into a false sense of security. He omitted a throaty groan and pushed his face further into her now sopping wet and writhing cunt, sending her juices all over his face.
To prevent him from getting too comfortable she nipped his cock with her teeth and let out an evil laugh when he yelped. Again and again and again. He couldn’t stand that she wanted to emasculate him like this. He pushed her off him, “You think that’s funny do you? Trying to get a little revenge by biting on my cock?” She was on her back now, facing him.
“It’s a little something of what you deserve and I haven’t even started yet. I didn’t tell you to stop”. The room was on fire.
“And I didn’t tell you to start acting like a precocious princess.” He spat.
He didn’t know whether give her a piece of his mind or give her a piece of his prick. She slowly came closer to him, predatory like a wild animal. He wasn’t going to take much more of this. In a flash he was off the bed and had pulled her with him. He had her against the wall cold wall, bringing her nipples to attention. He pulled the straps of her bra down her arms and yanked down the lacy cups, revealing the breasts that ached for his touch. Paris was against the wall with one leg around his waist, his strong hand holding it in place whilst the other fondled her breast. He raked his nails up Paris’ legs as he took her nipple into his warm, wet mouth.
“Oh please” she gasped and with that he bit her nipple.
“Ah” she moaned as she pressed herself into his hard cock. He manoeuvred himself so he had easier access to press himself against her. He rose to her face and they locked in excruciating eye contact, both breathing deeply. She came closer to Declan and took his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked it. Licking her tongue all over it. He couldn’t take it; his tongue was now in hers and they were intertwined, his hands in her hair, her leg round his waist. She could feel him probing at her with his stiffness. She was writhing, longing and wanton; biting his lip. It was too much, he plunged his cock into her hot core, sending sensations through her. Slowly at first, teasing her, attempting to rein back some control. Then quicker, grabbing her other leg and lifting her against the wall to get a deeper thrust. Hearing the slickness of her pussy stimulated him even more. He thrust harder into her. Her breasts bouncing up and down. He caught a nipple and flicked his tongue over it, trying to take her whole breast his mouth. His breath was short and sharp and she could sense he could come soon. She pushed him off her,
“Get on the bed” she ordered.
He had no words, like an obedient puppy he followed her. She straddled him and began to ride. Her head thrown back, breasts peaking and hair like a fiery snake pit she rode him with passion and fury. She grabbed his hand and directed him to her clit. Paris knew he wanted to shoot but she wasn’t going to let him win. She was ferocious,
“Quicker”, she ordered.
She slipped a finger into his mouth, followed by a second.
“Come on, suck it”.
He did as she asked. She removed her fingers from his mouth,
“I’ll do it myself” Paris exclaimed as she pushed his fingers away and rubbed her clit with vigor, struggling to get a grip on herself due to her wetness. She was building into a crescendo and could feel him tensing beneath her. She rubbed and rubbed her clit, a race to succeed, and she knew it was about to arrive. She pushed her hips forwards trying to get every sensation to where she needed it, her twat dripping its triumphant cum all over his throbbing dick. And then it started, she threw her head back and pulled on her left nipple, she didn’t need him anymore; she was right where she needed to be. The sensations imploded within her, from her pussy and racing through her blood stream to her fingers and toes. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy. Just as she came to rest he grabbed her hips and plunged his thick, slick with pussy juice, cock into her. Pound after pound after pound. His eyes half closed as he fucked her. Paris was getting turned on again, more because she loved bearing down on him, her flame red hair all around his face, in total control. She knew he was about to come and wasn’t going to let him have this. She jumped off as he was about to come and pumped his cock. Suddenly there was cum shooting out of his purple headed proud prick. Paris directed it so that it landed in a slap on this tummy. His chest hair sodden in his spunk.
“Pathetic little boy”, she uttered, looking him dead in the eye, with a smirk on her face. She picked up her clothes and left the flat. Even though she should have felt vulnerable due to her nakedness she had never felt so empowered. “Paris, where are you going? Come on, give me a chance”. She looked back and sniggered at him. Victory, at last.
Paris had changed.
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