A Conceited Cock Ch. 01

When one is riven to a certain fate, one hardly knows what to expect. One moment clear blue skies; with lazy clouds to greet you as would long lost friends, or brothers in arms and the next, storm clouds front you, rolling out waves of thunder.

Between the devil and the deep blue sea, between the rock and the hard place, which would you choose?

The eternal questions. Before you answer, remember that roses too have thorns.

Or so I realized.

Seeing a woman you have long fantasized about, after years of non-exposure can cause a tiny jolt of electricity to pass from your spine to your genital area.

It was this jolt that spurred me on, towards Arya. Deftly did I weave my way through the summer hotel crowds, my cock doubling as a compass. As I stood behind her finally, watching her bend slightly to scoop some salad on her plate, her tight blue dress strained against her lovely curves; sending my heart rate shooting.

So it was that as she turned, I was standing dumbly holding on to a buffet plate; my tongue, wile and guile abandoning me to dire fates.

Her memory did its part for me, to my squealing baby delight.

"Oh. Vilas! Hi, it's been such a long time!"

I would have attempted something witty, but in my current state I would have failed (luxuriated as I was by her countenance, too much blood had already been diverted, from my brain to my nether regions.)

"Hello Arya," I said wisely, and stopped.

"I am here, with my husband. He's chairing the meeting."

"Oh..." I said.

Lovely Arya was too nice to realize she had just rubbed a lot of salt into my wounds.

Whether, this was due to the mention of the husband or his role as the chairperson, eluded me.

"And what are you up too?"

"Business," I answered diplomatically; however a bit of false hauteur entered my tone.

"Oh...! Are you alone? You must lunch with me and Jeyaraj; once he gets done of course."

The thought of hanging out with Arya again, resulted in further firming my manhood, as I had already believed this to be a cursory conversation.

But, when a woman invites always accept or some such, was my rule. Needless to say I am a horny gentleman.

Further talk invited further erection. And my tight ass jeans were dangerously close, to losing their fight with my stalwart penis.

So I excused myself, as um, there was 'business' to attend to, and made my exit to my room. I promised to lunch with her.

The lunch it turned out, was one long delay. Jeyaraj was a busy man, and as the meeting dragged on me and Arya were bored waiting.

"It's always like this," said a huffing Arya.

When she fretted, her features were much more prominent, bringing out those lovely pouty lips, those flushed cheeks, that lovely aquiline nose.

I had always argued that her lips, eyes and nose were the greatest of her features, though my friends had always focused on, well other aspects of her physique. Not that I wasn't interested in those other aspects, it was just that I am a hopeless romantic (an eternal curse).

"Let's go walk around, shall we Vilas?"

"Sure," I managed.

As we wandered around exploring the hotel, I found my self revelling in her company. I watched her when was not watching, the way the wind danced and played with her hair, the slender slope of her neck as she turned to watch something, the delightful curves of her hips she swayed lazily, on to some bench in the middle of nowhere.

Snow tipped peaks, surrounded us, swallowing us whole; with their majestic primal beauty.

Arya it seemed had worked up quite a sweat.

"Let's go to my room; I want to freshen up."

A simple statement like that could make a man's heart beat until it exploded into tiny pieces. This made unconsciously by a desirable wife can have profound consequences.

But who was I to deny myself?

Do women even understand, that the simplest things that they say, the most casual remark, could give a man unwanted ideas?

Either they don't or they are way too aware of their sexuality.

I knew that Arya did not want me sexually. Did she know that I wanted to suck and fuck her?

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

But did she really think I was hanging out with her, to give her company, or to be nice?

I sighed, and followed her to her room.

As I watched her struggle with key, her perky breasts bounced and juggled in unison. As the door opened I was in a strangely hypnotic trance. Was I really following Arya into her hotel room? Was there nothing seemingly improper about all this?

Did Arya herself sense anything amiss? Or was I being led by the nose?

I did not flatter myself. I am no Don Juan De Marco. Casanova would have sneered and spat on me. Bond, that cool rogue would have shot me in the face.

Yet...

One tends to hope. Fantasies are a kind of sexual hope. One must have faith, if one is to fuck. I wanted to fuck and I found myself having faith. This faith lent me confidence.

Arya excused herself as she went to wash her face.

I settled myself on the couch, and helped myself to a drink.

Glen Livet 18. Jeyaraj's private stock. Man, the rich do live.

Sounds of water flowing from the faucet came from the bathroom, dying down just as quickly. The scotch rolled smooth on my tongue, and tumbled down my throat, a liquid fire in my belly.

A man sometimes likes to run free and I wondered, how a caveman would have reacted to all the sexual tension I was feeling. My mind instantly drew up a horrible scenario of a large hairy man battering on Arya bathroom door.

I was spared further deliberation, by Arya's timely exit. She smelt lovely and she settled down beside me, perfumed soap a wafting essence that spread its tendrils into my nostrils, further addling my brain.

"Is it often?" I queried.

"What?" asked Arya seemingly distracted.

"You said earlier that you are always waiting, for your husband."

"Well it's the nature of his business."

"Still it's never nice to make a woman wait, or so mother told me."

Arya smiled disarmingly, her hands brushing across her hair, in a gesture I could not fathom.

"You don't have to wait Arya," I said, gently placing my hand on her lap.

The liquor was stealing my brain. Before Arya thought anything untoward happened, I moved my hand from her lap, onto her hands.

"Call him." I said.

"What?" asked Arya, confusion clouding her voice.

"Call him and ask him to come," I said feeling, rather than hearing my voice rising. "A girl like you should not be made to wait."

"A- girl- like- me." Arya parroted.

"Yes."

Arya smiled a forlorn, sad smile and tilted her head down.

At that moment her life flashed before me in an epiphany of thought and color. A pretty girl married off to a slightly older man, a man who gave her everything except his actual presence. A lonely, hopelessly romantic girl, stuck in seemingly unending vistas of expected romance, with none forthcoming.

Desires, quietly resurfacing like dead things long buried under sea.

Desires that were than brutally clamped upon by and an iron will and excellent upbringing.

I felt for this girl; this woman, at that moment.

More than anything I have ever felt before, at once.

A thundering maelstrom of raw provocative emotion, mingled with lust that threatened to overwhelm me and the tattered remnants of my self control.

My hands grabbed her cell phone from the desk.

My hands were shaking as I drunk dialed Jeyaraj's number.

But before I could, I felt soft delicate fingers closing on my wrist.

Hands steadier than mine, gently took the phone away.

With a soft sad sigh, Arya turned to face me; her breath minty, and inches from my face.

"You feel too strongly, Vilas," said Arya shaking her head, the motion sending wisps of lovely hair, whipping against my face.

"I feel strongly for you," I whispered, taking a step forward.

I stole a kiss. I closed my eyes and felt my lips brush against hers.

I could sense a faint reluctance from her and so let the kiss linger.

Then my tongue decided to take matters into its own hands (forgive me, for at that moment, I believed anything possible).

With my tongue I gently pried apart her lips, and with tenderness commonly reserved for children, bit into her lips with my teeth.

What had started out as a near diplomatic, meeting of mouths and lips, now garnered enough passion and snowballed into one hot wet kiss.

I pulled her body against mine; as I kissed her with more passion than I had thought possible, making of our bodies' one fiery mold.

My hands slipped under her dress, my palms coming to final rest, on the softness of her belly. I imagined I felt a slight tremor pass through Arya's belly.

My palms squeezed against the parts which join the abdomen to the hips.

A little too tight, I think.

Arya immediately withdrew from me.

All lust left me as a different kind of tension settled upon me.

"I can't, I can't," Arya was saying, her lips trembling with emotion.

I tried to comfort her, taking her hands in mine. She deftly snatched away her hands, gesticulating all the while.

"Arya..." I started.

"Please go Vilas, please..." she sobbed.

I gently put my arms around her, only to be shoved away.

I had ruined it by doing something. But I could not for the life of me realize what it was.

Like the sodden, besotted horny loser that I was, I did the only thing I could. I left Arya, and walked out with what ever quiet dignity I could muster.

The British like to encourage people to have a stiff upper lip. Mine was quivering like jelly.

I was just about to fuck Arya. Yes there is no delicate or ambiguous way to say this.

I was about to fuck the dog shit out of her. Her bed would have been one tangled wet, sweat sheathed mess by the time I would have been done with her.

There would have appeared a new ocean in this world. It would have been called 'Vilas Sperm' and it would have taken residence within Arya's womb. I can go on and on. The despair I felt, at not being able to leave Arya a tired sweaty outline beneath me, was threatening to wash me away.

I was on my fifth beer when the telephone rang.

I let it ring for a while. It was probably from my boss calling long distance checking for updates.

The phone stopped ringing.

The beer started flowing, and the phone rang again.

Cursing like an Irish dock worker, I grabbed at the annoying phone.

"Listen, I'm busy," I said in a gruff voice, "call me later all right."

I slammed the phone down with rather excessive force, which did not serve to appease my battered ego.

And the phone rang again.

"Persistent bastard," I cursed and ripped the phone off with a growl.

"Listen you fuck," I started out rather melodramatically, "I don't give a rat's ass..."

"Vilas?" replied a rather soft voice on the other line. The voice was faint, very faint and I had some trouble hearing it. This irritated me no end.

"Who the hell is this?" I asked rudely.

A small pause.

"It's me." the soft voice replied.

"Arya...?" I asked, genuine surprise lighting up my response.

"Vilas...I...I feel we left things in a bad way, could you come back here?"

"You think that's a good idea?"

"Vilas... please."

Again her voice was oddly distorted, as if she was speaking through a piece of cloth.

My mind again wondered at this, but let it slide.

"I'm a bit drunk." I said.

"Vilas, I will be waiting." a click and the dial tone.

I put the phone back slowly, so slow it felt like slow motion (the phone may also have wondered at my sudden indecisiveness).

The truth was, I was shaken. Very, very, shaken. All the happenings of the past few hours had left me taut, but this was beyond all of them. I felt numb.

What the hell did she want from me an apology? Fuck that.

I sat on the sofa for a long moment thinking of nothing and trying to clear my head.

Then I got up and left.

A few moments later my sweaty, nervous hands were knocking on Arya's door.

"Arya...it's, me..."

"Enter," said a voice, again eerily muffled.

I did.

Puffs of smoke drifted lazily around the room, casting everything in a dazed ephemeral light. The lights themselves were dimmed, some to near darkness.

Shadows drifted around casting everything in a pall of gloom.

"Arya...?" I called out uncertainly.

Sounds... slowly falling water...

I made my way through the haze and came to a stop at the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar.

I could hear the shower running, but very, very, faintly, as if it was almost a trickle flow.

"Arya...?" I called out again, "Are you in there? What's going on?"

There was no response.

I knocked on the door and waited politely.

Still no response.

I scanned the room and located, with some difficulty her hand bag and phone. Good she was here.

Puzzled, I knocked on the bathroom door again and called out quite loudly this time:

"Aaaaryaa... are you there? This is really freaking me out. Are you okay?"

There was a murmur and soft shuffling from inside.

"All right that's it, I'm coming in," I bellowed, more than a bit irritated.

With a palm full of sweat, and heart hammering with curiosity, I slowly opened the door and strode in.

Clouds of smoke still wafted everywhere.

But no amount of smoke or illusion could hide the figure that stood under the trickling flow of the shower.

Nothing could have prepared me for this.

Arya was standing naked, the shower water drifting all over her, dispersing the steam around her.

My jaw dropped, and for a long moment I stared at Arya, partially clothed in mist and shadow. The steam swirled; allowing me glimpses of her sinuous curves.

She simply stood there like a statue; unmoving, watching, ever watching... always watching.

I stared at her for a while and she stared right back. Our eyes locked and I could see that her eyes, did not invite me in nor were they eager to see me out.

Perfect neutrality lingered in her gaze. She did not care either way. This hurt me slightly, but I shrugged it off.

I stepped closer to the shower room; towards this cold perfect goddess, clothed in naught but mist and shadow.

Again I noted, her eyes and her expression did not beckon or repel.

I moved forward till I was but a few feet from her and started taking off my shirt. When I was done, I removed my belt, my pant and was down to my underwear. All through this her eyes never left me. I had never been the object of such intense attention before. When I pulled off my underwear I saw the result of Arya's severe scrutiny.

I was rock hard and ramrod straight. I paused to admire my erection, and then stepped into the shower room, closing the door behind me.

I turned to face Arya, her nakedness outlined and accentuated by a million billion droplets of water. They were everywhere, flowing along her arms, her shoulders, over her breasts, along the lovely crevices and folds, over her belly and in-between her thighs. Her skin glistened like glass.

I then stepped close enough to Arya that her breasts and their tips brushed against my bare chest. Water dripped on me, as well. I started into her lovely eyes, full of an unnamable fire and kissed her.

As I drew her wet body into my tight embrace, I could feel the tip of my erection brush against the inner surface of her thighs.

I was necking her with my tongue; planting delicate, deliberate bites and nips on her long, smooth swan-like neck.

"Oh my god Arya..." I moaned, "Oh my god."

"What am I do with you Arya, what am I to do, to you...?" I crooned, nibbling on one wet earlobe.

Her eyes were closed as she replied, sighing, with a slow intake of breath.

"Whatever you want Vilas."

This simple yet profoundly powerful statement freed me, from any or all guilt that I might have felt, and sent me into sexual overdrive.

I sucked on her brown tipped nipples, my palms gently rubbing against her sex.

I lathered up some liquid soap, in my hands, and then begun rubbing in smooth, curving circles across her breasts and belly.

I started kissing her as I begun massaging soap onto her back and buttocks. I cupped her buttocks and started rubbing soap in between her ass cheeks. I felt around with my fingers playfully, and found her anus. As I tried slipping a wet finger into her anal opening, Arya jumped laughing.

"That tickles," said Arya.

I smiled and tried grabbing her, but her body had become so slippery, due to the water and soap, and she slipped away.

With a little trouble, I managed to pin her body against the wall. Using my knees I pried apart her thighs, and shifted my weight slightly against her lithe, slender frame.

Her body was constantly twisting and writhing against me; gods, but she was wet and soaped, soap bubbles dancing every which way.

I grabbed her upper arms firmly, and adjusted myself till I felt the tip of my bulbous mushroom tipped penile head, brush against her labia. Her wet pubic hair tickled me whenever I made contact, sending not unpleasant sensations shooting through my spine.

Arya was quite wet between her legs, as was evidenced by the rather unobstructed entry of my cock-head. Whether this was due to the shower or due to me I did not know. Frankly I did not care.

I applied more pressure against her and found to my delight, more of my erect shaft entering Arya. As I thrusted further, I found some resistance. Well after all we were making love standing, and the position was rather uncomfortable. I had not arrived there with any specific sexual plan. Everything that was happening was on the spur of the moment. I should not have even been able to enter her that much, standing. It was possible only because I was so erect.

Gods above and below, I was so hard it hurt. It felt like my dick was on fire and my blood vessels were bursting to jump out of my skin.

I pressed myself against Arya further, and with a clenching of my buttocks I gave a more forceful thrust.

With a grunt, that could have been pain or pleasure, a very married Arya found herself that evening standing beneath the shower, pressed against the wall, with a man's hardness buried deep within her.

And that man was most certainly not her husband.

I would have liked to fuck her that way, but after a few thrusts of hard cock, Arya found the position untenable. Me being the perfect gentleman, withdrew my still very erect manhood.

Arya then started soaping my body, the way I had done hers. But her hands were supremely softer and smoother, and her caresses were way better than mine had probably been. Her nails raked against my nipples and as they hardened, she deigned to suck and bite on them. I had never been pleasured this way and was thoroughly enjoying myself.

As Arya worked on nipples, her hands synchronously, wrapped around my shaft slowly moving up and down, her arduous fingers, caressing my balls and perineum. She lathered soap on my dick and balls for a long time and I was a bit concerned that I would bust a nut and waste the moment. But I did not want to disturb Arya in her sexual reverie.

She suddenly descended down, and using the hand shower, sprayed water on my dick. The water was luke-warm and of perfect temperature. After washing the soap off my cock, Arya moved her face close to my throbbing member.

"God Vilas, your cock smells so good," said a gushing Arya.

Now I understood why she had taken her time, she wanted my cock to smell perfumed and perfect.

Arya's pouty lips wrapped around my pink, circumcised, head. She worked on just my head for a moment and then took more of me into her sensuous mouth. She took her time with me and god she was making my toes curl up in pure pleasure.

By the time her nose was buried in my pubic hair, I could feel the tip of my penis tickling her tonsils. A bit over eager (which was understandable) I steadied her head with my hands and plunged deeper into her mouth; Arya started gagging on my man meat. Her throat muscles clamped down on my cock just as my cock head was starting to brush against her throat. This sudden constriction caused me to spasm and give way. I exploded, even as I was removing myself from her mouth.