Hello all you naughty boys and girls of Literotica. This is an entry for the Survivor Contest. Please look for the accompanying audio interpretation of this story on my profile (it will have the same or similar name). Please do leave feedback and vote on both the text and audio versions. Enjoy!
I'm the kind of woman who has never been afraid to take what she wanted. For the past while, I just hadn't wanted anything. Or rather, I hadn't wanted anyone. Relationships are often complicated and the past six months of my life had been proof. Letting Ricardo go had been very hard. He and I had lived together for a year and shared a great love of art and sex. Ricardo was an artist, a starving artist when I'd met him. I took him in and cleaned him up. He was younger than I and just as pretty. Soft hands and a slight build with a heart just as tender as his exterior. He was only twenty-one, which satisfied my cougar tendencies. He didn't even look legal. Blonde with piercing blue eyes and a face that looked beautiful, even stained with paint. He learned to work in the nude in the little studio I built for him, giving me unhampered access to his baby soft skin and eight inches of ever-ready uncut cock. I was very disappointed that he fucked one of the cocktail waitresses working his very first show. I don't share, unless it's my idea. So, with a final fuck and a kiss goodbye, I sent Ricardo on his way. He was better for having known me and truthfully, he wouldn't have held my interest for much longer.
I allowed myself a couple of weeks of wallowing in self pity. I enjoyed the anguish and longing. Then, I met Ondria. She was wild and free in every sense. A beautiful raven-haired woman with black eyes to match. She was smart and elegant and self confident. I was drawn by the fact that she didn't need me in any way, at least not according to the outside observer of our relationship. She had her own money, her own home and a doctorate in something that sounded dreadfully boring. We shared so many of the same interests and affections. But that was the Ondria she showed the world. She soon showed me a different Ondria, one who wanted to kneel at my feet and call me mistress, one who needed to be abused and humiliated to feel anything sexually. After only three months, I began to really feel the disdain that she liked for me to project towards her. The more distant I grew, the more obsessed Ondria became. I soon began to loathe our evenings together and then avoided her completely. She did everything she could to get me back, but threat of a restraining order finally had her seeing reason. She and I traveled some of the same social circles and I saw her occasionally, but she ceased to even look in my direction. Part of me missed the Ondria with whom I had fallen into total infatuation; the Ondria that did not really exist.
After Ondria, I stopped wanting. I carried on with my professional life and devoted my personal life to carefully planned loneliness. I shunned advances and ignored my own attractions. I read a lot. When that failed me, I shopped. But mostly, I worked. And that was the only thing that caused me to be at a bar, of all places. A group of Japanese investors wanted to spend time at a typical hot nightspot. I wanted their money, so I found myself in the role of tour guide. I sipped expensive, yet mediocre mixed drinks, beaming a brilliant smile and laughing at their jokes. One of them flirted with me and I teased back, utterly uninterested. It was business and not pleasure.
Then, he caught my eye. He was rugged and dark and even dangerous. He was unshaven, perhaps three days worth, and the scruff added to his darkness and his danger. The bar seemed too highbrow for him and he looked out of place. At first glance, I tried to tell myself that his misplacement was the only thing that made me notice him. But when I found myself looking again and again, I knew I could only feign disinterest. When I caught his eye, he didn't smile. I could only imagine what he thought I was doing with five middle aged Japanese men in suits. I tried to see myself through his eyes and couldn't help but smile. An entertainment director? A high priced call girl? What thoughts of me were behind those dark smoldering eyes? Were there thoughts of me?
He rose from his table in the corner and walked to the bar. I wished he'd just waited for the waitress to bring him another drink, because his movements caught me off-guard. He didn't just walk; he strode like a wild jungle cat on the prowl. His body rippled with lean muscle and grace. He passed close enough to the table and I smelled his cologne. He was pure animal and I was in heat. I lost several points of conversation as I watched him walk back with his drink. The jeans clung to the firm contours of his ass and thighs. His shirt was tight and tucked in, revealing a trim waist and wide manly shoulders. I took a sip of whatever was in my glass to wet my dry throat.
An hour passed and I'd watched him fend off two women who were intent on sitting at his table. I grew concerned until I saw him glower at a pretty gay boy who offered to buy him a drink. Was he waiting for someone? And then, I saw him head to the back hallway, to the restrooms.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," I said. I left all my inhibitions at the table with the investors and headed back to capture a jungle cat.
He came out while drying his hands on a towel. I waited in the hallway and he started to step around me.
"Excuse me," he said. His deep voice sent shivers through my excited body. I stepped in front of him as he moved to the side and he stopped suddenly. He looked down at me, bewildered.
"I can't excuse you. You have something of mine."
His brow furrowed and he asked "What do I have?"
I grabbed the front of his shirt in one hand and stretched up, pressing my lips to his. I felt his hands on my shoulders, as if to push me away. I put my free hand on the back of his head and pressed him closer. My lips parted and my tongue touched his lips. Suddenly, he was pulling, not pushing. His tongue danced out to meet mine and I felt his hands grip my shoulders.
He broke the kiss and looked around to be sure the hallway was empty. I took advantage of his momentary distraction and cupped my hand against the front of his jeans. His sharp intake of breath let me know that he was affected by my touch. As I rubbed his hardening bulge, I found myself turned and then pushed backward into the men's room.
He locked the door and then swung me around. He pressed me against the door. His lips found mine again and his hand found my ass. The look in his eyes was hungry and dangerous, and it urged me on. I yanked his shirt out of his jeans and slipped my hands underneath, feeling his hard, muscular belly. The hint of hair turned into a nicely furred chest as I explored upward. I ran my fingers over his nipples and then rushed back down to his belt.
Our hands flew at each other. Clothing was removed or moved aside or ignored, depending on the garment. And through it all, we kissed over and over. I reveled in the scratch of his whiskers against my face. His hands were not gentle, but gentleness wasn't the goal for which I'd followed him. I wanted to be taken and I could tell he was the man to do so.
His hands found my full breasts and his work-hardened thumbs raked over my nipples. I groaned against his mouth. I wanted him to suck on them, but he bit into my neck instead. I felt the heat rise at the spot where he nibbled and sucked. I reached around and cupped the gorgeous ass I'd admired on his trip past my table. It was just as firm as it looked. One of his hands left my breasts and he cupped my wet pussy firmly. I felt him gracelessly shove his middle finger up between my lips and into my tight hole. He moved quickly, fingering me and I gasped and held him to stop from falling over. His teeth raked against my shoulder and I cried out.
A knock on the locked door barely registered in my foggy aroused brain. A gentleman would have offered "just a minute."
"Fuck off!" he growled loudly, as he added another finger to the welcome assault on my cunt. He placed his thumb on my clit and began rubbing in a firm, but not-too-hard circle. This man was no gentleman.
I found myself on my knees in front of him. He placed one hand on the door behind me and the other grasped his shaft. He guided it to my lips and I parted them eagerly. My hands once again found the globes of his muscular ass and I sucked him like a back alley whore. I slurped and gagged as he moved his hips, fucking my mouth. He managed to moan and growl at the same time and the primal feel of it all made me suck him even harder and take his delicious cock deeper in my mouth.
I was dragged back up the door and he tasted himself on my kiss. Our tongues
danced and his hands were everywhere. I felt him circle my waist with his hands and I lifted my legs for him. I wound them around his waist and found myself slammed against the door as he entered me forcefully. He grunted with each thrust into me and I pushed back with the rhythm he set. Over and over I felt myself slammed back against the door. I put my arms around his neck and held on, caught up and carried away. He didn't leave me behind. My orgasm ripped through me like a volcanic explosion and I felt my juices gush over his rigid cock. I cried out loudly. His manly moans and grunts accelerated and soon, he joined me in paradise. Three more thrusts inside me and then my legs slid back down, my feet once again on the floor. I took a couple steadying breaths before trusting myself to stay upright without the support of the door. We straightened our clothing without a word.
Neither of us looked at the other. It didn't matter. He was my desire and I made myself his. I didn't know his name. I didn't need to. My thirst for him was sated. His hunger, appeased.
Relationships are complicated and I'm single. I won't stay that way for long, but for now, it was a good thing. No ties, no commitments, no restrictions. I might go back to the bar, see if he's there. I might have him again, if I see him moving...walking...like a panther on the prowl.