Amorous Goods: Scar Tissue

Lina: Gghh. Guh. I want it, I want it, but I don't think I can take it.

Choke me with it anyway.

Greg: Her eyes. She's scared. But she also isn't stopping.

"One more inch," he said. "You're going to take one more inch than you think you can."

She blinked her agreement.

"Relax. Breathe deliberately through your nose. Easy." Then he pushed forward with his hips.

His cock felt bigger than it ever had as he lodged it at the back of her throat. He forced himself to stop. "Swallow," he commanded, continuing to stare into her eyes. He felt a hesitant massage. "Again." The grip of her throat muscles was definite this time and again he felt himself tipping on the edge.

"Good girl," he said again as he pulled back and she gasped desperately.

"I knew you had more in there," Greg added wickedly as he took in the copious amount of spit dripping down his cock and her chin. He began stroking in earnest.

"Is that how you did it last night?" she gasped as she stared mesmerized. Lina was 23 and had held her share of cocks, even stroked some to climax, but she'd never seen a man finish himself off.

"Yes, and the two nights before. Because of you."

"Show me."

As his hand slid up and down, he returned to rubbing his balls on her face.

She whimpered, moaned, and continued taking swipes with her tongue whenever his flesh was within range.

He was quickly on the edge again and this time he didn't hold back.

"Here it comes, you little cockteaser. I'm going to paint your whore face."

"Yes, yes! Give this cock-teasing whore what she deserves."

"Oh, fuck!" He pulled back on her hair for some separation as his spunk jetted out. He painted her from one cheek to the other, getting her nose and forehead along the way. As the spurts turned to dribbles, he dragged his cockhead across her lips. Then he used it like a basting brush to smear the warm semen across her face.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Greg let go of Lina's hair so he could support himself on the wall behind her as the strength of his orgasm made his knees tremble. After a few seconds he was able to open his eyes and straighten up. Looking down, he saw that his date was still on her knees on the Turkish pillow on the floor but leaning back against the second pillow up against the wall. Her knees were spread, her skirt was hiked up around her waist, and her hand was thrust under the waistband of her panties and moving vigorously.

He took her by the hair again and applied upward pressure. She rose shakily to her feet, using her hands on his thigh and hip to steady herself.

As they approached the door to his bedroom, Lina looked at the door next to it that led to the bathroom. She stopped at the threshold and tilted her head to the right.

"Maybe I should go and clean up?" she asked.

"No. Remember how we talked about keeping things even?"

She nodded.

"It's time for me to get my face messy with your cum."

He pulled her into the room, turning her until she stood with the backs of her legs up against the edge of his mattress. He unbuttoned her blouse and peeled it off her shoulders. Tonight's bra was yellow and the clasp was in the back. He stepped in and kissed her deeply while reaching around to undo it and send it dropping to her feet with the blouse.

Breaking the kiss so he could see what he was doing, Greg twirled her hitched-up skirt around until he found its zipper and top button. To the floor it went. As did he, dropping to his knees. He slipped off her dancing pumps. Now she was completely nude, except for the panties; yellow, like her bra.

Lina watched, frozen in place by the suddenness of his attack. After stripping off her shoes, his hands slid up the outsides of her legs and rested on her hips. She expected him to pull her thong down and have it join the mound of clothing at her feet. Instead, he gripped her hips firmly and latched his open mouth onto her crotch over the top of the satin panel of her skimpy undergarment.

"Oh, my God!" she wailed as he bit into her through the material. His upper teeth pressed against her fired up clitoris. She was so overwhelmed that she sat, hell, fell down on the edge of the bed. Greg didn't miss a beat, moving his hands from her outer hips to behind her knees to lift and spread her legs so he could keep his mouth glued to her crotch.

Lina fell back, and he draped her lower legs over his shoulders. Her ass hung half off the edge of the bed and her whole body thrummed in orgasm as he gnawed at her pussy through the drenched gusset of her underwear.

Finally, Greg rearranged her legs in front of him, and the thong was going, going, gone. But his mouth wasn't. It was back between her legs and his tongue was thrusting up inside her.

"Oh, fuck!" she cried out. She'd never had back-to-back orgasms before, but she was certainly willing to try.

But then his mouth was off of her sex and he was up off the floor. He was standing between her legs with his hands again gripping behind her knees. "Scoot back," he directed.

Lina complied and scrambled backwards until she felt a pillow under her head.

Greg did his own scrambling until he was kneeling between her spread legs and looking down at her. The overwrought Latina momentarily fell back into her habitual insecurity when she felt his gaze traveling over her body and face like those red laser gun sights you saw in action thrillers. But his words quickly extinguished her fears.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he groaned. "And delicious. I need more."

Then he dropped down onto his belly between her legs and his lips returned to her cunny.

Again, Lina was lost; lost in feelings, in sensations, in thoughts. She had teased this man, unintentionally, but still, and he had kept coming back. He had made her come just from stimulating her nipples, then from attacking her pussy through her underwear. And now he was giving her multiple orgasms for the first time in her life as he thrust two fingers into her dripping gash while nursing on her protruding clit.

When she finally stopped trembling, he came up for a kiss, his mouth wet with her cum. When he forced his tongue into her mouth, she tasted it clearly, and finally understood what her queer friend Tory meant by, 'craving the honey.'

But then came what Tory could never give her. The blunt force attack that spread her swollen labia open wide and filled her vagina with a hot, throbbing presence no dildo could ever replicate.

So good, so good, she thought. But-- She put her hand to their union, preparing to pull him out of her unprotected core. But her fingers didn't find the bare flesh from earlier, there was something...artificial here. Lina opened her eyes and crunched upwards. Yes, somehow, in all of this action and movement, Greg had managed to slip on a condom.

Thank you, said her eyes as she smiled up at him.

Of course, his own happy eyes replied.

Then he commenced to fucking the hell out of her and further expanding her understanding of the words: multiple orgasms.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A stab of light made Lina's eyes clench and her face turn away from its source. Then her eyes creaked open as she realized something wasn't right. She found herself looking at the profile of a man, just a foot away from her. The light that had awakened her played across his face. Greg's face. She relaxed; happy not to be in her own familiar bed. So handsome. But the focused light beam showed the beginnings of laugh lines and crow's feet even on such a young, virile man.

Lina sat bolt upright. A half-glance to her right told her the light was the morning sun coming through window blinds not completely closed. The strong light of a clear morning that exposed every flaw, every truth. Moving swiftly, but quietly, she slid out from under the bedsheet that covered both of their naked bodies and put her feet on the floor. Then she was up and moving through the open bedroom door. She closed it carefully behind her before heading to the entry hall to retrieve her purse. Then she returned the way she'd come, only this time she went through the bathroom door to the right of Greg's bedroom door.

She sat on the pot and emptied her full bladder, all the time playing back everything he had done to her the night before. Oh, bullshit! Everything they'd done to each other. She'd never acted that way before, but it had all been more than consensual. She couldn't even blame it on alcohol; a margarita and a shot were well within her tolerance levels. What must he think of her? Was he going to drop her as a one-and-done slut? Oh, God, she hoped not.

While the thoughts in her mind whirled and clanged like a pinball machine, her hands moved on auto pilot and took some paper to wipe herself. The sensation when she touched her labia jolted her frantic mind into focus. She felt sore. So wonderfully, wonderfully sore. Hell, if he thought she was a slutty fuck, he'd want to do her again, not dump her, wouldn't he? Lina sure hoped so because she was suddenly as horny as she was anxious.

And he had enjoyed himself as much as she had, Lina had no doubts about that. Yes, he would definitely want to be with her again. Her head snapped up. He'll want to be with me again as long as he thinks I'm beautiful. The image of the strong morning light exposing every line in Greg's sleeping face filled her mind's eye.

Lina dropped the paper into the bowl, stood and flushed, then stepped to the sink. She kept her eyes staring down into its blank whiteness as she washed her hands. Finally, she forced herself to look into the mirror, to confront the face she knew could not withstand the strong morning light.

As expected, her carefully applied makeup was gone. Softened by perspiration and spit and wiped off on a pillowcase. Wiped off in his pubic hair, she thought with a mixture of shame and perverse pleasure. But still there were shiny spots scattered here and there. Oh, my God! She'd never washed his jizz off her face from that first, desperate encounter just a few feet into his apartment.

She returned her gaze to the sink bowl as she turned on the taps and adjusted the temperature. When it was right, she splashed her face several times with cupped hands. Then she reached out for one of the small bottles and jars she'd removed from her Coach bag when she'd entered the bathroom. This one contained a gentle cleanser that would remove the last traces of her makeup without irritating her delicate complexion.

Finishing her face wash, she found a clean bath towel and hung it on a hook by the shower door. Stepping in, she washed her hair and body. She liked Greg's usual smell and so used his body wash, while utilizing her own shampoo. After drying off, Lina stepped back to the sink with the damp towel wrapped around her torso.

She looked over her lineup of medicinal lotions, liquids, and creams, her constant companions since puberty. Lina objectively realized that it was probably more the simple passage of time that had finally reduced her acne flare-ups since about the age of twenty-one, rather than any of the myriad of products she'd tried. But still, it was her ritual and she followed it religiously.

Then another objective thought tried to break through her anxiety, that Greg had obviously already noticed her acne scars, but had still kept asking her out. But Lina's subjective outlook continued to hold sway. She was certain that other lovers had enjoyed her body, but not kept her as a girlfriend because of the unfortunate scars that marred her otherwise beautiful face. So, she again stuck with ritual and aimed to cover up her flaws as well and as long as she could.

She picked up the bottle of astringent and looked closely into the mirror, ready to deal with the fresh blemishes that certainly would have arisen after sleeping all night with a mixture of makeup and cum on her face. But there was nothing.

She'd avoided turning on the direct mirror light yet, but now she did, expecting it to expose the red spots that the overhead light hadn't. But still there was nothing. Well, thank God for minor miracles.

She moved onto her special foundation, which both covered the acne scars from a traumatic teenage period and contained just a bit of salicylic acid to prevent new breakouts. She began applying the foundation, feathering it in with the skill she'd developed over the painful years of being pitied by grownups, ignored by boys, and teased by both boys and girls. But when she went in for her standard third scoop and brought the goo to her face to finish the job, she paused. Turning her head from side to side, she saw that her scarring was already concealed. As she wiped the extra ointment from her fingers onto the lip of the jar, she figured her careening thoughts must have made her lose track of her usual process.

Shrugging it off, Lina went ahead and applied her mascara and eyeliner like usual. Again, she was caught by surprise by her image in the mirror. She looked like a raccoon; the eye makeup was obviously out of balance with her face. As if she really was wearing much less foundation than usual. While her mind puzzled, her hands removed the first go round and redid her eyes with subtler strokes.

Damn! How long is she going to take? Greg had toyed with the idea of sneaking into pee when he'd heard the shower running, but somehow that didn't seem the right move for a first sleepover. But here he was, 15 minutes later, and she still hadn't come out, while his bladder was really calling for relief. In the end, he got up on his tiptoes and pissed into the kitchen sink. It was good to be a man.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Greg had a pot of coffee brewed and water boiling in the electric kettle in case she wanted tea instead before she finally joined him in the kitchen.

"Good morning," he heard from behind him as he placed a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

Turning around, he saw a freshly showered Lina dressed basically the same as him, in workout pants and a t-shirt. At first he thought she must have raided his dresser drawer, which was fine, but then registered that she wouldn't have found a pink shirt with yellow daisies across the front in his kit. He'd thought her Coach bag had seemed overly large for a night at the disco but realized now that it evidently served as the modern woman's overnighter in disguise.

"Good morning, yourself. Coffee's ready and tea can be soon, which would you prefer?"

"Coffee, please."

He brought the carafe from the coffee maker and filled the two cups on the table as she took a seat.

"For breakfast, I can offer eggs and link sausages or yogurt and oatmeal. Or both, if you've a hearty appetite."

"Actually, I do feel famished. But yogurt and oatmeal will do me just fine. Although, I wouldn't say no to a slice of toast if you have enough."

Greg pressed the knob down on the toaster, then stepped over to the refrigerator. Reaching inside he gathered up a container of Greek yogurt, a butter dish, and two small jars of jam. He put everything on the table and turned back to the counter. He pulled some bowls out of a cabinet and then turned to her with a cardboard box in his hand.

"Is instant okay?" he asked, a bit sheepishly.

"Don't tell my mom, but that's what you'll find in my apartment too."

Greg tore open two envelopes and emptied them into the bowls. "Did you sleep well?" he asked as he poured hot water from the water cooker over the instant oatmeal.

"Very well, thanks. How about you?"

"Best night's sleep I've had in ages. I just felt so...relaxed." Then he turned back to the oatmeal prep, as the awkwardness of the first morning wakeup overcame the honesty of the moment.

"Relaxed? Or relieved I didn't leave you hanging again?" She bit her lip and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, my God, what's wrong with me? I sound like Tory."

Greg laughed, then moved over to retrieve the toast when it popped up. "The two previous nights ended up in relief," he said, as he put the toast on a small plate. Laying the plate in front of her, he looked directly into her eyes for the first time that morning. "Last night went far beyond."

Lina felt a surge of embarrassed shyness and her hands closed over her face again.

"Seriously, though," he said as retrieved the oatmeal bowls and brought them to the table. "Last night was sexy and amazing but I also really enjoyed falling asleep with you curled up against me."

She peeked at him between her fingers. "I liked that too," she said. Then she smiled and began buttering a slice of toast.

Greg sat and put the other piece of toast onto his own plate. Lina passed the butter over and then scooped a little of the raspberry jam onto her slice and into her oatmeal.

"Greg?" Her voice was quiet.

"Hmm?"

"About last night. I'm...I'm really not like that."

He looked up from his buttering. He seemed to be considering something.

"So, I wasn't the only one who was all worked up beyond normal?"

"Worked up to the point of madness," she offered. Her expression and tone of voice made it clear she was worried about his response.

"Good," he said finally. "Because as incredible as the payoff was, I don't know if I can go through that kind of foreplay on a regular basis."

Lina finally relaxed and let the warm feelings flow. "Well, there will still be foreplay, won't there?"

Greg grinned. "You'd better believe it. It just isn't going to run for three days and include cold showers in between."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Finishing up the next item on his AG Handyman list, Dylan LeMay folded up the ladder and repacked the tools he'd used to tighten a wooden shutter on one of the second-floor windows at the rear of the Victorian mansion. It was hot out and he pulled the tail of his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off of his face.

"Well, hello to you too, Lieutenant," he heard from the kitchen door that opened onto the back patio. The voice sent a thrill through him.

Lowering his shirt to uncover his eyes, he saw Morgana Delacroix walking out. His cousin Vikki was a step behind, carrying a tray with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

"Still just as skinny as when we were kids," she said.

"Skinny?" replied Morgana. "Don't you see all that muscle right there under the skin? It's like watching a cheetah. Just slinking along all loose-limbed and slender, until it explodes in a burst of energy that you can't escape."

Once again Dylan found himself in the embarrassing position of coming completely under Morgana's spell right in front of Vikki. And the hell of it was, just fifteen minutes before, when Vikki had been out there helping him, Dylan had pretty much decided he was finally going to make a move on her when she returned with the cold drinks she'd gone for.

Now as he looked at them side-by-side, he still saw his non-blood cousin as very pretty, with a wonderfully fit body that was well displayed in her mid-thigh cargo shorts and racerback mesh tank top. But Morgana, in a flowery halter dress that probably came from some Italian designer, hell, that some Italian designer had probably made especially for her, just oozed her indescribable mixture of sensuality and class. If Dylan was going to go all cheetah-like and run down one of these antelope, he knew wouldn't be able to stop himself from choosing the more striking Thomson's Gazelle over the cute Springbok.

"Wait a minute," said Morgana. "Lift your shirt up again." There was no flirtiness in her voice this time. Dylan did as she asked.

"Mon Dieu! You poor man. What happened?"

She was talking about the vertical scar that ran from his belly button to nearly his sternum. It was thick and lumpy in places.

Dylan dropped his shirt and gave her the condensed version of how he'd been injured in a cargo delivery accident at a remote Special Forces outpost at a location in the U.S. Central Command Area of Responsibility which he was still not allowed to disclose. Without imaging equipment available, the camp medic had had to do an emergency laparotomy to find and stop his internal bleeding. The guy had done a hell of a job saving Dylan's life under the circumstances, but the final scar was no work of art.