BC Ch. 01: Joining the Club

They were nice enough to do the flashing-lights-move-it-along thing instead of making a major production– the sharp-looking Lexus probably helped. My non-date handed me into his car, where I buried my face in my hands, laughing hysterically as we pulled out.

"Very funny," he said, grinning.

"Yes, it was!"

Normally, I'm a safety-conscious person: life preserver in a boat, helmet on a bike, seat belt without fail. Not that night.

He had a condo across town, only about ten minutes away. By the time we got there I was draped across the console with my tongue in his ear, stroking his cock through his pants, which were loose in the front, thank God, or the guy would've strangled.

In the parking garage he pulled me out of the car and dragged me to the elevator, saying, "No kissing, dammit, we'll never make it to the elevator." We almost didn't make it out of the elevator. It's such a cliché, but I was so hot for that guy... if the building had been slightly taller, I would have been kneeling on the floor sucking his cock before we made it up to his condo. Through the pants, it felt like a very nice cock, and I was extremely eager for an up-close-and-personal.

The next day, I woke hoping that my stranger had a hidden camera set up somewhere– even though that's against the BC rules– because we did a whole Hollywood movie scene right there in his foyer, making out while we half-wrestled, tearing at each other's clothes. We knocked a lamp off the hall table and I ended up sitting in its place while he peeled my shoes and panties off. I was fucking soaked, and we both moaned when his finger slid into me. I had one leg over his shoulder, one foot on the table next to my ass. When he inserted a second finger and rested his thumb on my clit, plunging deep inside my needy pussy, I yanked my mouth from his and screamed as I came.

And that was just the first fifteen minutes of our date.

I didn't know for sure how much those guys paid, but the rumor says it's a million dollars to join the Bill's Club and 100k a year to stay in it. That seems ridiculous, and it probably is only a rumor– but whatever they pay is definitely worth it. For me, I mean!

I pulled my dress off while he stepped on the heels of his shoes and dropped trou. He was wearing jockeys. I love jockeys. I was still wearing my bra, while he still had socks, shirt, and jockeys. He pushed them down in front and shoved his cock in me right there. I was right: it was a very nice cock.

I held onto his neck while he thrust a few times, getting himself wet and loosening me up enough so I wasn't making that face anymore– you know the one– then I clung to his waist while he carried me to the sofa.

He knelt in front of me, and I unbuttoned his shirt to get the feel of his skin on mine. He kept his hands on me– holding my thighs apart, cupping my ass, pinching, stroking. The kitchen was lit, so we could see each other, and most of the time while we he was fucking me, we were just staring into each other's eyes. It was incredibly hot.

I was panting and whimpering, making all those screwed-up fuck-faces, and I couldn't stop. The lips of my pussy were clinging to his cock as he pulled out, and when I arched my back just-so, his lower belly hit my clit every time he plunged into me. I came again, a second before he did, one of those silent, gasping orgasms, holding his ass and pulling him so far into me it actually hurt. The low, sexy groans he'd been making stuttered into a pained silence, and his fingers dug more deeply into my hips. His eyes closed and he came, spurting hotly against my cervix.

Something about the situation and that position and my favorite stranger filling me with cum... my orgasm had been fading, but I screamed then, my pussy clamping down on him so hard I thought I'd sprained something.

We ground our hips against each other, working out the last of our spasms, before he fell forward to rest against me. We lay limply, breathing heavily. After a couple of minutes, he lifted his torso off mine, pushing himself up to not-quite-vertical, from where he could run his eyes over my body. He smiled at me, still panting, and drew a thumb lengthwise up my clit, making me squeak and try to wiggle away. He licked the moisture off his thumb, grinned, and pulled out, tapping me on the nose before he stood, and finally removing his shirt as he walked away.

"Loose the bra," he said.

He was back in a flash with ice water for me. When I'd drained the glass, he pulled me into the bedroom, where he proceeded to fuck my brains out for the next three and a half hours. He wasn't very old– under thirty, I'd say– but the next day I wondered if he'd had chemical assistance of some sort. I don't know squat about those pills, but he didn't stay hard after he came; he just got hard again quicker than I'd have expected of anyone over seventeen.

Either way, I didn't care.

It was fan-fucking-tastic sex.

I didn't know, didn't need to know, and didn't care if my stranger was always like he was then, but for one night he was my perfect man: an ideal blend of caring and selfish lust. He wanted to get me off, but he wasn't what Randi and I called a "Lifetime Lover"– one of those men on mushy made-for-TV movies who is more concerned with the heroine's needs than his own. I'm not criticizing truly altruistic men, or anyone who wants to be with them– the world would be a damn boring place if everyone thought and felt and acted like me and Randi– but in a romantic relationship, those guys always drove me nuts.

My one-night-Mr. Perfect had clever hands and an experienced mouth and paid attention to my response, but he wasn't afraid to take what he wanted. After ninety minutes or so of enthusiastic fucking, when I collapsed against his side with my eyelids drifting closed, he rolled over and bit me, hard enough to leave a mark the next morning.

I yipped, my eyes flying wide to meet his.

"Forget it. You can sleep tomorrow," he growled. "Tonight we fuck."

Lacing his fingers through my hair to hold my head in place, he claimed my mouth with no tenderness in his kiss.

In returned, I growled against his lips, digging my nails into his ass until I had a chance to bite him back.

He wasn't a large, muscular man, but he was strong enough to move me around. He did so all night– manhandling me from position to position, a few of them resembling something you'd find in a 1960s "How to Make your Woman Love you Forever" manual– ideal for petting or providing some kind of additional, female-friendly stimulation.

I didn't get to come every time he did, but I wasn't keeping score, and knowing how badly he desired me made every delayed climax more intense. And while I might not want a Lifetime Lover, I am a very sensual person, and he did know how to cuddle. He didn't skimp on the petting, and I didn't insist on the sleep.

This will sound bizarre, but one of his more outstanding qualities was a firm grip on the logistics of intercourse. After our first time on the couch, where my neck was kind of folded-up and I could have used another cushion under my back, he had us positioned exactly right for every activity. There were fifteen or twenty decorative pillows in assorted shapes and sizes scattered around his room, and all of them were perfect for one thing or another. Don't tell me that wasn't deliberate!

There was a cylindrical bolster on a bench seat at the foot of his bed. Laying flat on my belly with my legs spread and that pillow under me... oh my god... his cock rode right across my g-spot every time while every thrust worked my clit back and forth over my pubic bone. My pussy morphed from a solid into a liquid form by the time he finished doing me on that bolster. It would have been perfect for anal, too, but I didn't mention it, and we didn't go there.

In the corner of his room, there was an easy chair with a slanted back. I sat while he stood with one knee braced on the arm of the chair to fuck my mouth. I'd already noticed his genius with physical mechanics, and I could see right away that position wasn't ideal, so I figured he was being polite because we'd just met. I gave him a push on the hip and straightened myself out, hooking the ottoman in closer with my feet, so I could slump further down in the chair.

"C'mere." I patted the other arm. "Kneel."

His knees on either arm of the chair and his palms on the wall behind it, he fucked down into my mouth. With his knees apart and him over me that way, I had easy access to his clean-shaven sack, or I could stroke his cock while I licked his balls– he really loved that– moaned the whole time I did it. His gorgeous, perfect ass was right there, too..

My head was tilted way back, and he slowed down several times to make it last longer for himself, which I didn't mind at all– I like giving head. I didn't even wince when he pushed all the way in just before he came. I had more cock in my throat than I usually take willingly, but it wasn't for more than ten seconds or so..

Anyway, I love the way it feels when the cock in my mouth expands and throbs as the guy comes. I know I sound like one of those stupid fake Penthouse interviews, but I'm a very sensual person. I like everything about sex, all the stroking, touching, tasting... I don't care what anyone else thinks: at the end of the night, I'm more satisfied if I know my partner is passed out, half-dead, dreaming happy dreams. I want him to wake up the next day thinking "Holy shit, was that real?"

Of course I want to feel the same way. It doesn't always work out for both of us, but I'm not going to be the weak link in the happy-fuck-chain, dammit.

The blow-job in his easy chair–- ha! easy chair!– was the second-to-last time we had sex, and by then I felt like I was done.

We were both pretty sprawled out... weak legs, wet thighs... when we crept back to his bed, and by that point, I didn't think I'd come again, no matter what we did. I'd been aroused all evening, but friction is friction, and I was missing some skin. We lolled around kissing and stroking whatever was handy for a while, keeping each other awake. Yes, each other, because I was poking or nudging or elbowing him if he started snoozing, too. We were laughing and wrestling, giddy, but still having a blast when he decided it was time for "one more."

I whined, but didn't have the energy to seriously object when he pulled my leg up over his so he could slide his fingers down between my pink, puffy labia. I moaned, only half in pleasure, and he stroked me lazily, touching me too lightly to be uncomfortable. When he sat up, he pulled me over onto his lap, bending his knees and spreading his legs between mine. With one hand he played with my tits, pinching my nipples, his other arm around my waist, four fingers tugging and stroking my raw, sensitive clit in a dozen different directions.

Curling your hips that way seems like it would be exhausting, but I was sore and selfish enough not to protest, and the sex was surprisingly wonderful for me, despite the frequent shrieking of skinless nerves. My muscles were so tense that my spine barely brushed against his torso as he made love to me. With the top of my head resting on his collarbone, I gripped his neck, arching wildly and yelping like a whole goddamn pack of dingoes. When he came, his ass lifting off the mattress, I screamed between my teeth in frustration and fatigue. My sweet stranger risked his life laughing at me as he rolled. Lucky for him, I was too tired to form a fist. I might have worked up the energy to sulk, but he sat me on the fat end of a slanted cushion and pushed me backwards, so my ass was hanging off the edge of the cliff. Then he went to town with fingers, tongue, and finally, his cock again, licking, sucking, and fucking me into one more agonizing orgasm.

Then I was DONE.

I could hardly walk, but I wrenched myself weakly from his solid, comforting embrace and toddled to the en suite for a desperately needed wash. I smelled like a walking sex factory.

The short shower brought me marginally closer to consciousness, and when I finished, I stood in the door of his bedroom looking around like I was lost in a forest.

"Where are my clothes? I was wearing clothes when we entered the building, right?"

He grinned and rolled to his feet. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him as he crossed the room. When I first saw him, back at the bar, I remembered thinking he was average-looking. As he came to me in his bedroom later on that night, I realized how wrong I'd been. With his short brown hair tousled and spiky from my fingers, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep, the ruddy tracks of my fingernails streaking his sides, and his body shiny with sweat and our shared fluids, he was as attractive as any man I'd ever seen. The smile on his lips and the humor in his eyes made my arranged-stranger truly, deeply handsome.

He took my hand. "I don't mind if you stay the night. No strings, but it's not a big deal if you'd rather sneak out in the morning."

I was tempted not just because I yearned to close my eyes, which is why I said no. I find it much easier to like someone after sleeping in his arms. It's like some kind of pheromone poisoning. I smiled and tipped my face up for another kiss.

"Dammit. Now I have to wash my face again. You smell like pussy."

He laughed and tapped me on the nose while I called my company's car service.

I slapped his ass. "No. I appreciate the offer, though."

He walked me out, buck naked, and kissed me good-bye at the door.

When he rubbed up against me, I pushed him away, faking alarm. "Keep that thing away from me!"

He was still chuckling when I left.

That night was worth every damn penny, in my opinion. Every one of his pennies, I mean, cuz I only spent $25 for two glasses of wine and a tip.

Good deal.

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END NOTE- It isn't vital, and I was seriously trying to avoid it, but by the time Sim's third "fantasy" rolls around, there's an honest-to-goodness, unifying plot to this series of stories. Please let me know if you enjoyed the lighter fare or if you'd prefer I slap a warning label on it and stick to the geeky stuff.

–Stefanie

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