My Night With Lara Flynn Boyle

Before I could answer, she grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked it to the side. I heard buttons dancing on the sidewalk.

“How could I? I’ve been alone for five years.”

“Show me your arms!” She was in no mood to wait for me to take my jacket and shirt off myself. She pulled at my jacket, hard and fast, spinning me around, and got it off without tearing it. She flung it behind her into the darkness. Her hands flew at me again and the rip of tearing cloth came from near my left shoulder.

Her mouth was a grim straight line as she wrenched the shirt to the left causing the sleeve to race down my left arm, stopping only for a split-second before the button at the cuff gave way and went clattering away into the night.

Lara grabbed the right side of the collar and yanked it towards the ground. Another tearing sound—a long one this time—and then I was standing in front of her bare-chested. She grabbed my right arm and twisted it hard so that the crook of my elbow was pointed towards a streetlight. She ran a thumb over the crook in my elbow studying it carefully. She twisted my arm this way and that carefully examining every inch of skin.

She held out her hand to me. “Give me your other arm.” Her voice had softened a bit. I held out my left arm and she examined it every bit as closely as my right, but gentler this time. When she was satisfied that there was nothing to be found, she released me.

“Have you ever been with a prostitute?”

“No.”

“Ever been with a man? Given a blowjob? Get fucked in the ass?”

“No.”

She took two steps back and chewed at the inside of her right cheek again, staring at me, re-evaluating me.

“Look, wallflower, I came up to you at the ball because you seemed…vulnerable. A sweet, shy guy, uncomfortably out of place.”

“Of course, I was out of place. I—“

“A small cock. Is that it?” she demanded in a tone of voice I recognized. It was the tone she used on The Practice when cross-examining a witness: aggressive with a hint of anger. Hearing that familiar tone in real life left me momentarily paralyzed.

Lara stepped forward and started unbuckling my belt.

Her yanking at my belt snapped me out of my stupor, and we both grabbed at the top of my pants and at each other’s hands. Four hands flew this way and that at my waist and then the top of pants were open and my zipper was pulled halfway down.

Lara drove her thumbs under the waistband of my underwear and she dropped to a squatting position, dragging my jeans and underwear all the way down to the middle of my shins (and leaving a foot-long scratch down the outside of my left thigh.)

I grabbed for the top of my pants, and by dumb luck, caught one of Lara’s wrists instead. But Lara’s other hand shot up between my legs, and her thumb and index finger closed in a tight ring just above my balls. She gave a brief but powerful squeeze and the sudden stabbing pain racing through my lower abdomen made stop struggling.

Lara leaned against me, and I felt her breasts flatten against the bottom of my rib cage. With only the thin layer of fabric of her evening gown between us I could even feel where her nipples were pressed against me. She smiled up at me, not a mean or a cold smile, but a kind, winning smile. She had complete control of the situation again, and she was quickly calming down.

“Easy, take it easy.” Her stern cross-examining voice was gone, replaced by a calm, soothing tone. “Wallflower, let go of my wrist?” It wasn’t order; it was a request— almost a polite request.

I hesitated and her middle finger brushed against the back of my scrotum on its way to join the circle her thumb and index finger were making. Lara gently but steadily tightened her grip and stretched the stalks that connected my balls to the rest of my body. I let go of her wrist.

She pulled my balls downward, making me bend my knees until we were eye-to-eye. “Okay, finish the job,” she said, her voice low and husky.

“What job?”

“Your pants. Take them off. Your shoes and socks, too.”

“Are you kidd—“

The ring finger of her right hand joined the circle and stretched my balls farther from my body.

I kicked off my shoes and lifted my left foot high enough to pull off my sock and push my pants and underwear off. I quickly did the same thing on my right side. My bare ass pressed against the car window that was almost uncomfortably warm thanks to the Southern California summer.

“Good. Pick up your pants and throw them into the car. Behind the passenger seat.”

I squatted and picked up my pants, socks, and shoes and pushed them behind me into the car. And I did it with Lara keeping her very firm grip on me.

She leaned me back against the car once again and said “Now, let’s see this cock of yours.” She squatted down and looked at it closely. “It’s not very big.”

“Well, given the circumstances…”

She barked out a pleased “Ha-ha,” and smiled up at me. “Good point.” She kept a firm grip on me with her right hand, and with her left hand she stretched and twisted my cock, looking at it from every angle. She squeezed the head between her thumb and middle finger, pinching the pee hole open so she could look inside. “It looks clean,” she said. She put her nose flush against the head and loudly sniffed at the slit. Then she pushed the tip of her little finger into the hole and when she removed it, the tip of her finger glistened in the streetlight. She sniffed at it and then touched it the tip of her tongue. Finally, she combed through my pubic hair, examining me all the way down to my skin.

She looked up at me, gently pulling at my balls with one hand and massaging the head of my cock in the other. “Wallflower, how big does this get? And tell me the truth.”

“A little over six.”

“How thick?” Those blue eyes of hers didn’t blink once.

I shrugged. “A couple women said it’s a bit thicker than average.”

“ ‘A couple’? How many women have you been with?”

“Three.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

Her right hand tightened slightly—I think unconsciously—and she tilted her head slightly and began chewing the inside of her cheek once more.

She stood up and again pulled me down by my balls so that we were nose-to-nose. She stared into my eyes, I guess looking for some sign that I was lying. Again I smelled her fresh-water scented perfume.

She relaxed her grip. “I believe you, wallflower. Now, listen to me. You’re going to spend the night in my bed. You’re going to submit to whatever I want from you—or take from you—sexually. Deny me anything and you’re out the door. And tomorrow morning, both of us are going to go our separate ways with enough memories to fuel a couple years of masturbation. Is that acceptable to you?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She let go of me. “Throw the rest of your clothes in the car and get in.”

As I stepped gingerly on the rough sidewalk with my bare feet, behind me I heard her heels clicking on the street. I snatched up my jacket and torn shirt and hopped back to the car.

Lara had the engine running before I got in, and, once more, she pulled away from the curb before I had the door closed.

I sat in the darkness, holding my clothes in my lap as we raced down the street towards another intersection and another yellow light.

There was no cross-traffic at this intersection as the light changed to red. But this time Lara slowed the car to a stop.

She punched in the dashboard lighter and, as she twisted around looking for something behind her seat, the top of her gown opened slightly and she unknowingly gave me a profile view of her small breast for several seconds. A gentle slope led down to a pink nipple. “You threw a real scare into me, wallflower. You know that? You’re thirty-two years old and you’ve only had three women?” She turned back around in her seat taking a cigarette from her purse “You mind?”

I shook my head.

“How come? About the women, I mean.”

I shrugged and pushed my bare feet into the Porsche’s thick black carpeting. “I never got over my teen-age nervousness around women.”

“Why not? You’ve got that wholesome boy-next-door look working for you.” She looked me up and down yet again. “You look ridiculous sitting like that. Give me those.” She put the cigarette between her lips, and pulled the shirt and jacket from my lap and threw them behind my seat.

“I feel ridiculous sitting here like this.” I put my hands between my legs.

“Maybe. But you look good.” She pulled my hands away from my crotch. “Don’t hide your cock. I want to see it.” She studied my face yet again. “You’re not movie-star handsome, but you’re definitely good-looking.”

“I’ve been told that before, but I can never make myself believe it. I always think women say that just to be polite.”

The lighter popped out and Lara lit her cigarette. The orange tip glowed fiercely for a moment pushing back enough darkness for me to see Lara was watching me in the darkness. The window beside her suddenly slid down a couple inches.

The traffic light turned green and my head was pushed back onto the headrest once more.

As we raced along under the widely spaced streetlights, the darkness inside the car receded slightly and then re-intensified again and again, making shadows in the car grow and shrink and grow and shrink. Watching Lara in that ever-shifting light, with the smoke from her cigarette drifting past her face towards the open window, she looked like a femme fatale from an old movie.

The smoke and Lara’s perfume mixed together creating an aroma cocktail that started blood flowing to my cock. I breathed it in deeply and felt my cock start to thicken and lengthen.

Then the smell of acrid smoke from the tip of the cigarette was suddenly replaced with the smell of milder, exhaled smoke. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the smell. Blood continued to flow into my cock, and it began to rise a fraction of an inch every time my heart beat.

I felt the gentle thunk of Lara downshifting and the car slowed suddenly enough to lift my back from the seat. We turned right and Lara up-shifted once again.

“Ooh, that’s better,” she said just before I felt two fingers and the palm of her hand, cool and soft, close around the shaft of my cock.

I opened my eyes and looked down. Lara held her cigarette between her first two fingers, held the shaft of my cock with the other two, and stroked the head of my cock with her thumb. Everything about Lara’s hand suggested femininity: delicate, slender fingers, fingernails just long enough to look ladylike and covered with clear nail polish, and a delicate gold chain around her wrist twinkled as she softly massaged me. The harsh smoke from her cigarette drifted up to my face, tempting me to inhale deeply. “This is a major improvement from five minutes ago.”

“It’s the smell,” I said.

“What smell?”

“The combination of cigarette smoke and perfume. Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve thought that’s what a real WOMAN smells like. It sounds foolish, I know.”

Her TV-star smile shone in the dark. “It doesn’t sound foolish. I think the same thing, except the other way around. I don’t think it looks attractive when a woman smokes, but it looks great on a guy.”

Just then, a big drop of pre-cum pushed out through the slit in my cock. Suddenly, Lara’s thumb was slipping and sliding all over the head.

Lara looked at me, her eyes open wide in delight. She squeezed the head of my cock between her thumb and ring finger and more pre-cum slid out of my dick. She twisted the fleshy part of her thumb against the slit, scooping up the pre-cum, and lifted her thumb to see how much was there.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other eye on her thumb, Lara looked at a drop that was almost as big as a dime completely covering the end of her small thumb. It balanced there for a split-second before it started to roll off her fingertip. But before it could fall, Lara jerked her hand upwards, ducked her head underneath it, and caught the drop on her tongue. She lowered her hand, catching all of the tail of the drop on her tongue as well. And then she put her thumb into her mouth and licked that clean, too.

She winked at me and then put the cigarette between her lips, took a cheek-hollowing drag, held the smoke for a moment, and then blew it just passed the tip of my nose in an exhale that might have lasted five full seconds.

“How was that?”

“If nothing else happens tonight…”

Another bark of laughter: a single “Ha!’” and her eyes glistened. “Don’t worry, wallflower, a LOT more is going to happen tonight.”

Lara’s feet and right hand danced on the clutch and the stick shift and we slowed down one last time. She tossed her cigarette out the window. On our right, the front gate to a private house was already rolling back as we approached and we shot though the partially opened gate at 25 mph with about four inches to spare on my side of the car. We raced up a driveway that curved gently to the left, and screeched to a stop directly in front of the house.

Lara got out of the car as I looked around. “So this is where a celebrity lives,” I said to myself. “It looks just like anybody else’s home.” Lara’s swaying ass made her red gown twinkle in the moonlight as she walked between the rows of red and yellow flowers that lined the walkway to the door.

I got out of the car with my hands between my legs, quickly looking left and right, but there were trees at both sides of the house and no way for the neighbors to see me. I turned back to the car to get my clothes.

“Leave them! You won’t be needing them tonight,” she said, unlocking the front door.

“There’s nobody home, right?”

That devilish smile again. She hesitated just long enough for me to think there was someone inside before she said, “Just you and me – all alone.” She disappeared inside.

I hurried in behind her, thinking I was becoming a member in a very small club: people who have entered a stranger’s house for the very time while stark naked.

Lara was halfway up the stairs as I stepped inside and closed the door. As she climbed, she held a handful of the front of her gown so she wouldn’t trip. “The kitchen is all the way through on the left. Bring me a beer, and help yourself to anything you like.”

I walked through a living room that had a TV that looked the size of a small movie screen, a dining room that had a table with settings for eight people, and on into a huge kitchen that had one of those big stainless steel refrigerators like hotels have. I opened the fridge and I didn’t believe what I saw. She had more food in her refrigerator than I have clothes, papers, and assorted junk in my closet. Twelve bottles of Bud sat on the bottom shelf. I grabbed one, opened it, and went looking for Lara’s bedroom.

When I got to the top of the stairs, four rooms were dark Light from the only other room spilled into the hallway.

The walls of Lara’s bedroom were painted navy blue. The carpet and the furniture were all white. A king-sized sleigh bed with a headboard and footboard of light-colored wood stood to the left of the door. A white writing desk with gold trim occupied the far corner. Across from the foot of the bed stood a chest of drawers. To the right of the door was Lara’s make up table. Her red evening gown hung across the chair. And in the corner, next to the window, Lara sat in a big white easy chair, her legs crossed, wearing only her red high heels.

I brought her her beer, wanting to look at all that bare skin, but I tried to play it cool. And her eyes held me once again.

“I said you could help yourself.”

“I know. I don’t drink.”

She took the bottle, closed her eyes, tilted her head back and drank almost half the bottle at once. While she was drinking, I stole a look at her body. I expected her breasts to be almost non-existent, and they were small. But they were bigger than I thought they’d be: small cones topped off with pink nipples.

She had so little body-fat that I could see the faint lines of her abdominal muscles just under her skin.

Only the very top of her dark brown bush was visible: a straight line across her lower abdomen.

I expected her legs to be too thin (it was too dark in the car to get a good look at them), but they were surprisingly shapely: a model’s legs. The ankle straps of her bright red shoes gave her the aura of class.

“You have a shoe fetish, too?”

I looked up and saw she was smiling at me; smiling because she caught me staring.

“No. No shoe fetish. Its just…there’s something sexy about shoes with ankle straps. They seem elegant or sophisticated or something.”

She pointed to the dresser across from the foot of the bed. “There’s a tape measure in the top drawer. Bring it to me.”

I found the tape measure sitting on top of a drawer full of thong panties.

I brought it to her and she said, “Stand in front of me.”

Lara leaned back in her chair and uncrossed her legs. Slowly, steadily, her legs opened. More and more of her bush came into view: a thick but well-groomed triangle against milky white skin. Just above the left-hand corner of the triangle, a tattoo came into sight: a small green shamrock.

I looked from her bush to her famous face and back again. My cock lifted and lifted and lifted. And Lara continued to open her legs wider and wider until the tendons in her groin stretched as far as they would go. The folds of her inner lips were already shiny and flushed a bright red.

She caressed and fondled me – her touch felt like warm silk – until my dick until it was almost painfully stiff and pointing to a spot on the wall high above Lara’s head.

Lara pushed the metal tab at the end of the tape measure flush against my pubic bone. “Now let’s see what we have here.” She ran the tape along the top of my cock. “Bend forward. I can’t see the numbers with your cock standing at that angle.”

I had to lean so far forward my forehead touched her shoulder.

Lara twisted her head, neck, and shoulder this way and that, giggling. “You’re breathing on my neck!”

“I can smell your shampoo.” I inhaled deeply. “And your perfume.”

“You like?”

“Mmm, feminine.”

A hundred freckles dotted the tops of her shoulders and went down her slender back.

“Six and…three-eighths. Stand up!” She shoved my shoulder upwards, still laughing.

She wrapped the tape around the center of the shaft and ducked her head to see the underside of my cock to read the measurement.

“Five…and… five-eights. Well, wallflower, you’re a little longer than average, and definitely thicker than average.” She dropped the tape measure on the floor and slouched down in the chair, sliding her hips to the edge of the seat. “Get on your knees.”

Lara lifted her legs onto the arms of the chair, and I saw a second tattoo: a large Celtic cross on the inside of her left ankle.

She wiggled her hips getting more comfortable in the chair. “Now, put your pretty face between my legs and make me come.”

I bent forward staring at her pussy. At the ball, in the car, even here in the bedroom, she had played it cool. She had been casual and confident in taking control of this entire situation. But now, her secret was out: she was every bit as excited about all of this as I was. Everything between her legs was glistening and shining: her inner lips, her outer lips, the tops of her inner thighs, the skin between her pussy and asshole. Already there was a wet spot the size of a quarter on the seat of the chair.

I sniffed her bush and smelled body powder and a faint hint of strawberries (douche, I presumed).

I looked up at her famous face. She wasn’t smiling now; she was staring at me intently, breathing though her mouth, exhaling just hard enough to for me to hear in the quiet room. I continued to watch her as I gently kissed her pussy lips. She made one soft whimper and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.