tagFetish30 Days or Bust: Day 15

30 Days or Bust: Day 15

byl8bloom©

All characters in this story are age 18 or older.

*

Of all the times I made love to Mark that night, clearest in memory is the moment when I was on top. We held hands, our fingers interlaced, as I rode him. The smells of our sweat, our sex, mingled to make a musk uniquely our own.

The flush of mutual discovery was in full bloom. Some deeper connection was being forged as he cradled my ass in his lap. The image of Shiva and Shakti flashed through my mind and I shivered. Mark's eyes shimmered into mine. Again, stronger than ever, I had the eerie sense that he could read more than my thoughts; it was as if we knew each other's emotions.

"Come here." His words were soft.

I let him draw me down into his horizontal embrace and stretched out my legs on either side of his. He was still deep inside me. I turned my head sideways to lay my head on his shoulder and he stroked my hair. Our lovemaking was at once intensely sexual and deeply comforting. I could not escape the feeling that I'd waited for this man all my life.

Mark held me, stroking my back and butt. I reveled in his touches. We rocked one another in a rhythm that was gentle, but insistent, and soon, I turned my face to run my lips over his skin. He lifted his head to accept my kiss. While his lips were soft, his stubble was scratchy, and the combination gave me another shiver. My nipples grew harder and as he traced the swell of my breasts, I whimpered.

He rolled us over and lifted my body to maximize the angle of penetration. What a god he looked! The moonlight carved his pecs and arms into bas-relief; I could see him staring at me, too. His eyes traveled downward to the place where our bodies joined. Lust etched his features as he fingered my stretched labia. He took his time, exploring the living seal around his cock. My hips instinctively jerked upward, and he flicked a glance at my face, then resumed the intimate probing.

No lover had ever touched me this way before. Our carnal knowledge of one another was going deeper than fucking. He teased his way around my clitoris, then slid a finger inside, alongside his cock. I gasped.

With a whispered word he took my hand and guided me to do the same. It was kind of kinky, I guess, but it was erotic, feeling that connection, the place where our bodies locked together. Our hands got sticky and he interlaced fingers with me again, only this time he was on top.

He rode me then, slow and hard at first, with long strokes that made my body scream for release.

My squirming beneath him grew more desperate. I writhed, begged him to fuck me. "Please!"

"Yes." His voice was husky. "Yes, Dr. Arthur, I will fuck you now." He closed his mouth over mine in a thick, heavy kiss, nothing subtle about it, and suddenly thrust with abandon. The friction sparked, I cried out, and shuddered.

"Oh god Mark, I'm coming!"

"Come all over my cock, Lisa, I want you!"

Gasps, a series of wild cries, no words. "Ah! AGGHH!"

My body gushed all over his. Somehow he managed to pinch a nipple as my breasts bounced wildly below him, and that was it. My whole body yanked as if from some external force. Mark's face gathered tightly as my orgasm squeezed his cock. A moan escaped his lips. "Lisa," he choked. He grabbed my hips and held our bodies together with testosterone-driven strength as he pulsed inside me.

My cup runneth over.

* * *

Morning found us sprawled like dolls that had been dropped in the middle of play. The tangled sheets were fairly reaching for the washing machine. Bits of bodily fluids crusted at our groins.

For some reason the sight of Mark drooling in his sleep endeared him to me. He woke as I watched, wiped his face, and smiled at me in pure happiness.

We hugged and kissed but did not make a move toward a pre-breakfast fuck. I think we both knew we were worn out! Instead I kissed his forehead.

"Hello, sleepyhead."

He hugged me again and chuckled, "Sleepyhead, yourself. Where can a man get a cup of coffee in this place?"

I was already pulling on a robe. "Come on."

The sun was up and the birds were singing. I started the coffee while Mark relieved himself. He joined me a few minutes later, looking sexy as hell yet wonderfully ordinary in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

We could not seem to touch each other enough. We didn't speak much; our bodies were still talking, with little touches: with fingers, palms, lips, we caressed one another, reveling in the freedom to do so. We could belong to one another now.

Side by side, we took our coffee out on the deck. I switched on the radio. We held hands across the aisle of our deck chairs, enjoying the new sun in the sky, the saxophone of Mr. David Sanborn, and each other.

The music ended and the news came on. It was another sad tale of city life, some poor woman found dead in her home. I frowned, not wanting this intrusion into our romantic morning.

"Shit!" Mark exclaimed.

"What?"

"I know her." He lifted a hand to stop my questions as he listened intently to the broadcast, but the announcement was almost over.

"Police have not named a suspect but are in the process of questioning persons of interest."

The sports got rolling and I turned off the damn thing.

"I'm sorry, Lisa. Doris was a client."

I sobered. Paradise couldn't last forever, I guess. There were sure to be other clients from Mark's past ... maybe we ought to talk.

"Listen, Mark ..."

He was way ahead of me. "Lisa, I'm finished with the escort business. I know I have a certain history, but if you'll just give me a chance..."

The words tumbled out of him in a torrent. Apparently he had been keeping his feelings inside for a while. He came very near, or so I thought, to proposing marriage.

This made me just a bit uncomfortable. Wonderful sex, feelings of connection, a blooming romance but ... we'd known each other two weeks...

As gently as I could, I mentioned the length of time we had known each other.

"Of course." He looked abashed. "I don't mean right this second, I just mean..."

His voice trailed off and for a moment, silence descended between us.

My smile was gentle. "Why don't we just keep getting to know each other, and see how things go?"

His relief was obvious. "That would be great."

When the police showed up, we were kissing.

* * *

I'll never forget the surreal image of Mark in the back of the cruiser. The police just said they had a few questions, and asked him to accompany them downtown. They wouldn't say what it was about.

I think all of us were thinking about Doris Perkins, but no one said her name out loud.

The whole thing took less than five minutes. Mark was permitted to get his shoes on. Then he was gone.

Stunned, I sank onto the couch. This did not seem to be a situation for which arboreal research had prepared me.

For a few minutes I simply sat like that, gazing at nothing. Then: "Get hold of yourself, Lisa!" I thought. "Think!"

Yes -- that I could do. I strode down the hall with more confidence than I really felt, fired up the computer and dragged out a tablet of graph paper. Images, symbols? No -- try chronology.

The careful ritual of penciling straight lines, arranging time neatly on the X axis, soothed my mind into order.

Google filled me in on all the details of Ms. Doris Perkins. Apparently she had been quite the society matron. Her influence was known to make or break artists, actors, politicians. It mostly seemed to boil down to money. That was all right, then, I thought. In my opinion, money isn't really all that. Besides, Mark had plenty of his own.

After some consideration, I made a notch to signify when Mark might have last had contact with Doris. I hoped it hadn't been when Mark was with me, so I pushed that one to the far left. Another notch: the date of her death.

All I had left was today's date, and then the future stretched its long blank line. I made the final hash mark, resisting the urge to write "You are here."

Then I sat back and tapped the pencil against my teeth. It didn't seem like a lot to go on. The first two blips seemed awfully far apart. That worried me. If Mark hadn't been anywhere near Doris for over two weeks, why would the cops be wanting to talk to him?

Maybe the timing didn't matter. Maybe they were just hoping to gain some information that would help solve the case. Maybe they didn't really think he ... killed her.

This was the thought my mind had been circling around, trying to avoid: maybe I was dating a homicidal nut job.

"He just doesn't seem like that kind of guy," I said aloud.

But those kinds of things did happen. Quiet neighbors, nice guys, even sweet mothers sometimes had something terrible to hide. Their friends and spouses never knew until some event rocked their world.

I steered myself back to rationality. Speculation could only cloud my thinking. If ever there was a time for lucid objectivity, this was it.

Briefly I considered calling Mark's employer, Wish Fulfillment, then decided against it. That was Mark's decision to make, or probably the police would do that. I didn't want to get mixed up in that.

I could not imagine saying to anyone I knew: "My boyfriend has just been taken downtown. What do you think is a good course of action?" I didn't even want to google advice. The situation was just too weird, and too personal.

The only person I had to call upon was myself.

Careful thought. Careful thought. What was the desired outcome? Over how much of this did I have control? What was morally right, and what was safe?

I sat very still, thinking intently for several minutes. Then I knew what to do.

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