The Journey of Jezebel Ch. 01byRedHairedandFriendly©
Someone's definition of Jezebel: ... an impudent, shameless, or morally unrestrained woman
This is my Jezebel...inspired by an SRP I am honored to write along side with Tseranc.
Samuel watched the group of women laughing, their heads bent around the table in hopes to stifle their words and keep their secrets to themselves. Their laughter though, as much as they tried, could not be contained. One woman in particular had a laugh that drowned out the others. Most occupants in the room found her to be the most annoying, yet Samuel found her the most intriguing. He noticed the way her head would be thrown back as the hardy belly laugh was pulled from her. He couldn't help but be drawn to the ivory flesh of her neck. He imagined running his fingers down the slim column, wrapping his hand around it and bringing her closer to his lips. Samuel shifted in his seat, felt the growing arousal and knew without a doubt that the woman would be the only one who could satisfy the need. After all, she'd caused it, only fair he give her the joy of easing him of his burden.
Samuel rose from his seat at the club's bar, left several bills by his empty glass and made his way to the women. His eyes never left the one that had caught his attention. He reached her side and waited for them to notice him. It didn't take long. Five pairs of eyes stared back at him, and then a sixth pair, the pair he had wanted focusing on him since he'd noticed her. Samuel smiled at all of the women, then looked into the eyes of the ocean. His pulse quickened as he watched one brow lift. Curiosity. He cataloged the emotion, locked away the hint of what she was thinking, knowing he'd use that lifting brow as well as other facial expressions to learn all about her.
"Can we help you?"
Her voice rippled over him. It was full of both wonder, humor, and a slight bit of annoyance. How many times had she been approached by strangers he wondered. How many ever made it past the ice that seemed to cover eyes now forced to acknowledge another male who showed interest. Samuel smiled, a charming smile that he knew often melted the hearts of single as well as attached women. Even men were susceptible to his charm, though he never ventured down that path, at least not too far. He would use his charm to further himself financially, but never would he use it in the bedroom...not for a man anyway.
Samuel bent down and whispered into the woman's ear. His breath stirred her hair; he breathed in her scent and recognized it immediately. Lilacs. He would be sure to provide her with that scent for as many years as she'd allow him to. When he rose, he nodded his head to the other women and walked away. His body was stimulated as was his mind, and all she'd said was 'can I help you...'
"Who was that?"
Jezebel's gaze was drawn away from the stranger's back. "I don't know," she answered honestly. Her sex had tightened the moment he'd whispered against her ear; if she were honest with herself, she would have to admit it had tightened as soon as she saw him approaching out of her peripheral vision.
"What did he say?" another friend asked.
Jezebel chuckled softly. "He demanded I meet him for drinks."
Light laughter trickled around the table, bouncing soundlessly off crystal and silver.
"Yes, demanded," Jezebel answered.
Rita snickered. "No wonder you didn't say anything. No one demands Jezebel Saint Claire."
Jezebel smirked, winked and lifted her glass. "Right you are." The girls clicked their glasses together and went back to discussing the antics of some of societies most known gossip mongers. Soon all but Jezebel had forgotten the stranger and his demand placed on her shoulders.
The conversation ended on promises from each lady to return to the same table, and at the same time, with the exception of it being one month later. Jezebel slipped behind the wheel of her red Ferrari F430 after tipping the valet and being rewarded with his wide and grateful smile. She eased onto the road and then disappeared from the sight of envious eyes. Jezebel polished her lips with a light sheen of gloss, glanced at her reflection and tried to focus on the music that resonated throughout the car's interior.
She couldn't concentrate though. She could still feel the stranger's breath on her skin, still feel the tingling sensation that his presence had poured over her. Even his scent had somehow lingered on her and had become a constant plague. His voice had been low, soft, seductive. It was as if he knew she would cave to his whim and she would too. She knew it as soon as she had seen him rise from the bar. A part of her wanted to rebel, a larger part however wanted to see who the man thought he was. What gave him the right to demand anything of her and how had he known she would do as he had told? What had he seen in her that others hadn't seen, including herself?
Jezebel drove the short distance needed in order to reach her home. The security gates swung open once the password had been keyed into the control box. A computerized greeting of "Welcome home Miss Jezebel" greeted her upon entering the house. She pulled a silver hair comb from the soft bun that she'd twisted her crimson curls into earlier that morning, tossed it onto a nearby table, along with her car keys and her purse.
The soft sound of her sandals sliding across the floor as she kicked them off was the only sound in the house. Jezebel liked the silence. She had grown up in a home full of servants, yelling siblings, fighting parents and had often found herself retreating to the closet of her room, a place where the noise was muffled and went partially unnoticed.
All those sounds though had stopped when she moved away after graduating from high school. She'd cut herself off from her family, her past and began to live life the way she wanted. Jezebel used her looks to gain herself employment. First in the porn industry, but only then it was for a short spell, she had no desire to actually become a star. For one year she worked, earning her place in the credits and learning how to fake every emotion that the cameraman needed. She took her money, thousands and thousands of dollars, and disappeared again, this time entering college and though she didn't earn a degree, she took courses that aided her in understanding how to make her money work for her. A few more years passed and she became known to those in the business field as a women to be reckoned with. Someone that knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it. A mystery to most and that was how Jezebel liked it. The ladies she met each month were women that she had known since college. Women that she'd taken under her wing. Together they added zeros to their bank accounts and learned how to depend on no one but themselves, or each other.
Jezebel walked past a mirror that hung just outside her bedroom door. She stared at her reflection, once more wondering what the stranger had seen in her. Her face was one that a former lover had called captivating, mesmerizing, alluring. Jezebel however saw the flaws that only she could see. Round cheeks, arched brows, a few crows feet around her lips and eyes. Freckles too... how she hated her freckles. She would spend a fortune on trying to rid herself of the soft brown dots. Her mother had scrubbed her face raw trying to erase the sun damaged flesh. Her mother was crazy... Jezebel knew this, but still the freckles were a reminder that she had been flawed. So were her eyes. They were the color of the sea, one man told her. Her father however had damned her to hell several times, because they were the color that reminded him of her mother's infidelity. Another flaw, another thing to dislike about herself.
She pulled her way from the reflection she desperately hated and moved to her bedroom. The door remained opened as she peeled off her top and shimmed out of her shorts. The expensive Versace shorts were kicked away, as was the matching emerald blouse. Her fingers slipped along the edge of her lace thong and soon it too was nothing more than a piece of lace on a silver, gray carpet. Deftly she unsnapped her bra; it floated to the ground and Jezebel disappeared into her bathroom.
Her eyes caste a quick glance at the clock on the shelf where her favorite bottles of lotion, soaps, and perfumes rested. She had a little over two hours to ready herself. She hadn't told her friends everything the man had whispered. Yes, he had demanded she meet him for drinks, but in the short amount of time that he had whispered in her ear, he'd also demanded she come clean of all but the scent of lilac and sex. That was the clincher for her. The demand had not been the usual come on line, but he had actually come right out and told her what he expected. He expected to fuck her and she'd do it his way.
She would to. There was something in her that told her she would, but what?
Jezebel started the bath water, poured in a generous helping of lilac oil and slid into the water. She pressed the controls that rested on the rim; immediately the water was rolling over her. She angled her leg so that the powerful streams bounced across her thighs. Her body slid deeper in the water and the jets hammered her lower back and shoulders. She closed her eyes, breathed deep and sighed, allowing her mind to go back to the intensity of the stranger's stare.
A few minutes passed before she opened her lids, reached out with her foot and twisted the water's faucets to the off position. Once the final trickle was gone, she slipped her toes back under the water and returned to the man's haunting image.
Samuel sat confidently at the bar. She would be there, there was no doubt in his mind and knew there was none in hers. Though she had not said anything to him nor called him back when he had walked away, he'd felt her body tremble after he ended his demand. Even her scent had changed. The evidence of her quickened state of arousal had wafted up to his nostrils and that was all the answer he needed, the only confirmation required that she would indeed come and be washed in the scents he'd told her to wear. Lilacs and sex.
A soft mummer of appreciation reached Samuel's subconscious. He glanced briefly at the bartender, followed the older man's gaze, though he knew who had entered the room and who had garnered the entire room's interest. Jezebel. He smiled at her name and the meaning behind it. Was she what her namesake proclaimed? Was she shameless? Morally challenged? A hussy of first rate quality? Yes... she was. He knew it, but did she? Samuel had lined the pockets of several club employees to discover all he could surrounding Jezebel Saint Claire. It was an investment that would pay for itself. It was just a matter of time.
He rose and made his way to Jezebel. She stood just inside the bar's entrance. Samuel stepped up, pressed a kiss to her lips, and breathed deep. "Good girl," he whispered against her mouth, "you smell divine."
He felt her body stiffen; the heat of her blush warmed his own flesh. He smiled and stepped back, looping his arm around her waist. They turned together, fluidly as if they had always known how to move as one. Samuel couldn't help but notice how well she fit against him. Perfection. He'd searched for that perfect fit all his life and now he had it. He would not let her go.
"I have a table reserved for us in the club's dining room," he told her as they moved out of the bar and across the expensively decorated lobby.
Jezebel simply nodded her head. She didn't want to voice any words that would destroy the feeling of completeness that seemed to wash over her. They wove their way through the various tables that were full of guests. Eventually Samuel pulled out a chair for her and she slipped into it. Her hands rested demurely on her lap and she was struck with the oddity of the situation. When was the last time Jezebel had ever been demure?
She watched the stranger sit down beside her. His chair had been strategically placed closer to hers, and not across the table where it would naturally have been placed. He reached under the table, and took one of her hands. She felt cold steel slide over her wrist. Jezebel looked down and grew slick with arousal as she took in the cuff. It was just one, a steel circle with a small link dangling down, like a charm. She lifted a brow when she looked up at him. Another emotion played across her face and she knew this man was reading it. He was reading her.
Samuel's sex stiffened as he read acceptance in her eyes. Acceptance for how long, however he couldn't read, but he was willing to wait and relish every minute he had with her. "How did you do it?" he asked before signaling a passing waiter for service. The man approached, offered the wine list, which Samuel glanced at then quickly ordered from. The attendant left and he turned his face back to Jezebel's.
"Do it?" she repeated the final words he's spoken.
"Yes, how did you do it. The fragrant of sex is strong. Almost drowning out the lilacs. I am positive I know how you soaked in lilacs, but tell me Jezebel, how did you come? How did you make your own perfume rise up so it greets a man with every breath he takes."
Her face grew red; Samuel grinned. His fingers caressed the edge of her skin that warmed the cool steel. "Did you use just your fingers? Did you come in the water? Or did you use a toy?" He leaned closer, pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Whose face did you see when you fucked yourself?"
Jezebel shivered. Samuel breathed deep and kissed her neck. "You're soaked. I could breath in that scent all day. I will too."
He leaned back; the attendant arrived and soon a glass of wine rested in each one's hand. Samuel clicked his glass against Jezebel's. "A toast to the scent of man," he whispered.
Jezebel lifted a brow. Samuel watched it's arc, noting again the difference in just how high it raised. "To the scent of a woman," she countered. He chuckled, clicked her glass again and drank the crimson fluid. The nectar of some fruit crossed his palette and he licked his lips in appreciation. Jezebel did the same; her eyes never left his mouth.
"So...I am waiting," he told her after allowing another drink to pass between them.
"I started in the water, my bath. But even with toys I never seem to find what I seek."
"We'll work on that," Samuel promised. Another brow raise, another knowing expression. He had always been fascinated with the little details a woman gives with just a simple lifting of her eyebrows, or the furrowing of them. A high arch usually meant she was shocked, as did the telling widening of her eyes. Deeply furrowed meant in his opinion that she was confused about something. Arched deep, but not sternly usually showed concern. Jezebel's spoke of interest. She was definitely interested in how Samuel would provide for her a way to reach the place she sought when in the water.
"Continue. You left the bath and then..."
"I walked to my bed, pausing briefly to grab my black bag from the closet."
Samuel smirked. "Ahh, a black bag. Now, you're not a doctor Jezebel, so what do you keep in that black bag?"
"What is your name?" she suddenly asked, changing the topic.
"Samuel Coughlin. Now... what is in the bag?"
"Various toys, oils, lotions."
"And your favorite?"
Jezebel's face grew warm. She sipped her wine and glanced around, hoping the solitude of where Samuel had placed them was as secretive to voice as it seemed to for sight. "Two bullet vibes."
She chewed on her lower lip and nodded. "Yes, two."
"What do you do with them?" he prodded her with both the question as well as the intense stare and the firm, gentle touch of his fingers caressing the cuff and flesh under it.
"I put one in myself and one on my..."
"Say it Jezebel. Don't act shy and innocent. Tell me where you put your toys."
He felt her body tighten and knew her inner muscles were flexing. He breathed deep again and shook his head slightly, enjoying the scent of her growing state of arousal.
"I put one in my pussy and the other I keep pressed against my clit."
Samuel grinned. "See pet, that wasn't so hard."
Jezebel's lips curled slightly at the name. Pet? Where had that come from, she wondered, then dismissed it as the server appeared and Samuel ordered for them both. She told herself that she was allowing him the liberty to order her meal. A part of her told herself that she was giving him that privilege, she didn't want to admit that she enjoyed it. She enjoyed the power he seemed to wield so easily over her.
"Go on," Samuel told her after the server disappeared, "I want to hear every detail."
Jezebel shifted in her seat, swallowed another gulp of her wine and licked her lips. Her hand moved to her lap and she wiped sweat from the palm of her hand. She felt Samuel's eyes on her and knew there was no getting out of telling him her story, unless she stood up and walked out. She was not going to do that.
"I lay there, naked and wet. I pulled a sheet over myself and pushed one of the vibes into my pussy. The other I took and pushed against my clit. I used my other hand to turn on the first vibe, setting it at low. I then turned on the other, it too I kept at low."
"Why the sheet?"
The question threw Jezebel for a moment. She paused and thought a moment. Another expression for Samuel to file away. "I don't know," she told him.
Samuel eyed her knowingly. "Yes, you do. Tell me."
She blushed, something that was becoming a habit. "I don't..."
"Jezebel, let's get one thing straight right now. You don't need to lie to me. You know why you cover yourself with a sheet when you fuck yourself. Now tell me."
His voice had raised slightly, causing her to glance around and see if anyone had heard him. When she was assured that either the people had been oblivious of their conversation, or had simply chosen to be polite and ignore them, she answered, "I'm embarrassed."
"See, that wasn't hard. We'll work on that too." A puff of air she'd been holding slipped free of her polished lips. She hadn't even been aware she had held it until her lungs were free of the tense pressure. "So you play under the covers," he said, hoping to coax her back into telling the story.
"Yes. Always," she admitted.
"That's why you can't find pleasure in the water. It's too open, there are no covers. The water is clear, bubbles disappear to fast and," he thought a moment, "a shower curtain holds back no sound. You don't cry out when you come do you Jezebel? You're afraid someone will hear you."
She blinked her surprise, but shook her head in agreement. "We'll work on that," he told her, then winked.
Their salads appeared and Jezebel devoured it with a hunger she didn't know she had. Samuel watched, chuckling inwardly. She was a gem. He knew it. A wounded gem, but also a highly charged sexual one. He wanted to possess her, more so now than when he had seen her in the club.
As she tucked the last leaf of her salad into her mouth, he ran one finger over the edge of her dress's hem. She trembled. His finger slipped under the thin material and ran an inch up her thigh. "Open your legs," he told her. She did. He stroked small circles into her flesh. "Your story is not finished," he said, lifting his glass of refilled wine and sipping it, while still caressing her skin.
She stuttered slightly and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I continued to vary the vibrations of the vibes. My pussy grew tighter and I pushed harder on my clit."
"Did your hips rise and fall as you fucked the toys?"
"Did you bite your lip so you wouldn't shout or grunt or whimper?"
"Did you see my face when you came?"
His finger had never stopped moving. It had inched its way closer and closer to the object of their discussion. Her fragrance blossomed further as his words moved over her. "Jezebel," he whispered, having moved his mouth to her ear once more, "did you see my face when you came?"