Callie Kim and the Measure of a Man

"I--I just... I just texted him," she sniffled, her body melting into a pout on the floor. "That's... that's all! I didn't actually DO anything..."

"You knew he wanted to fuck you," I seethed. "And you kept texting him anyway."

"I just--I just...," Callie stammered, drunkenly groping for what to say. "It was just... for fun. It wasn't SERIOUS, and I--I would never, NEVER actually DO anything with him..."

"You mean like fuck him?!" I spat.

"I WOULDN'T!!" she cried, tears filling her eyes. "I swear--I swear I wouldn't!! I'm just... it's just that Jay's so far away, and I'm by myself all the time out and here, and... and it's lonely, but all... all I do is flirt a little, sometimes, just for fun... but I'd--I'd never cheat on Jay, ever!!"

"So you're not a slut," I said, shaking my head. "You're just a cocktease, right? Is that it?"

"I--I guess, sometimes, I like to tease, but it's--I swear, it's just for fun," she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I know it's bad, but I... I'd never really cheat..."

"Are you sure about that?" I smirked. "You really think you can tease like that without cheating?"

"I'd never cheat," she said. "I... I love Jay too much to ever hurt him..."

"Then why don't you tease me," I said, lying down in the middle of her bed. "And let's see what happens."

"Na--Mr. Walsh, I can't," she pleaded, shaking her head. "I... I'm too drunk, and I need to sleep. We have work in the morning..."

"I'm losing patience, Callie," I said, unbuttoning my jeans. "Here are your choices: you can show me how you like to tease, or I can show Jay what you've been doing all alone out here."

"You can't show him!!" Callie cried, clasping her hands. "Please, Nate, please! I was just lonely, and I... I never did anything!!"

"Mr. Walsh," I said firmly.

"Mr. Walsh, okay--okay, please," she begged. "I'm... I'm sorry, okay? I promise, I won't text like that anymore. Not ever, I swear. So, please... please, I just made a mistake, but you can't tell Jay..."

"Show me," I growled, her pleas only stoking the fire inside me. "Show me what a good little cocktease you are..."

"I--I can't," she protested, her eyes widening as I unzipped my fly. "Please, Mr. Walsh, you know I can't!"

"You told me you like to tease, right? That you're just a cocktease, but you'd never cheat," I said, reaching between my legs. "Or are you lying to me again?"

"No, I'm... it's true," she said, trying to reason through the fog of brown liquor clouding her mind. "I'm--I'm not a cheater..."

"Then you can tease me without cheating," I said, sliding my hand beneath the elastic of my boxers, beginning to stroke myself through the fabric as Callie watched in horror. "Can't you, Callie?"

"Ohmygod, M--Mr. Walsh," she gasped, recoiling. "No, p--please, you... you need to stop that..."

"This is what you like, isn't it?" I sneered, reveling in her obvious discomfort. "You like turning men on, don't you? Isn't that what a cocktease does?"

"I can't--I can't do this," she whispered, starting to hyperventilate as she watched me squeeze the bulge between my legs. "Please, Nate, you know we can't--"

"MISTER WALSH!" I bellowed. "YOU WILL CALL ME MISTER WALSH!!"

"Okay, okay!!" she cried, cowering on the floor away from the bed. "But M--Mr. Walsh--"

"Take your fucking top off," I snarled, losing my patience. "Show me how you tease, or I'm going to get angry."

Callie could tell that I was serious now, that this was not a negotiation, that it never had been. Slowly, she stood up, and with resignation etched across her face, she grabbed the hem of her white undershirt and lifted it over her head. As her body came into view, I reached for the bottle of scotch.

She was wearing a black Calvin Klein bra that hugged her round, firm breasts, lifting them together to create a gorgeous, golden valley. Beneath that was the soft, flat expanse of her toned, 23-year-old torso, dimpled by a cute little belly button. Standing there, holding her white undershirt limply at her side, she cast her eyes towards the floor, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of shame and alcohol.

Fucking hell, I thought, uncapping the bottle and taking a long, quiet moment to drink her in.

I'd seen Callie in sports bras and bikinis before, so the sight of her body should have been familiar to me by now. But it was something different to see her in person, in private, with the soft, warm light of her bedside lamp casting the shadowy curves of her mouthwatering silhouette against the wall. She was always so poised and confident in front of the camera, yet now she seemed shy and vulnerable, unable to meet my gaze.

Callie had the body of a woman in the prime of her life, at the peak of her sexual powers, her pert breasts and slinky hips a tantalizing testament to her reproductive ripeness. Yet her mannerisms were undeniably youthful and girlish, so unlike the seductive persona she had cultivated for the camera.

I'd fantasized obsessively about this moment for weeks, but no matter how often I'd imagined it, I couldn't have known what it would feel like. In sober moments, when I stared at myself in the mirror with disgust, I wondered whether I would really go through with it. Part of me had hoped that I wouldn't, that I couldn't, that my conscience would kick in before it was too late.

And in that moment, I did feel a sobering pang of guilt, a tremor of shame that shot through me. For as much as she played the temptress on the air and online, the Callie that stood before me was just a girl, naive and in need of protection.

If I'd been sober, perhaps that tender impulse might have stopped me. But I wasn't sober. Not even close.

I was drunk.

Drunk on the scotch coursing through my system. Drunk on the exquisite, intoxicating beauty of the 23-year-old Korean girl standing in front of me. Drunk on the power that I held over her, the leverage that kept her rooted to the spot, trying vainly to hide herself from my ravenous eyes.

Squeezing my cock through my boxers with one hand, I lifted the bottle to my lips and tipped it back, pouring still more of the brown liquor down my throat. As the scotch settled into my belly, a kind of lecherous logic began to worm its way though my brain.

You see, me and Callie, we weren't so different. We were both trying so hard to be good, but we were each haunted by dark thoughts, taboo desires. For months, Callie had been fighting the urge to cheat on her fiancé, just like I'd been resisting the temptation to corrupt her.

We weren't bad people, she and I. We were just weak, and our temptations were too strong. It was inevitable, I thought, that we would eventually succumb. And as the liquor warmed my body from the inside out, I decided that neither of us could wait any longer.

"Look at me," I grunted, luridly stroking myself through the thin cotton fabric as I sprawled across her bed.

Callie shook her head demurely, keeping her gaze locked on the carpet beneath her feet.

"Fucking look at me," I snarled, sitting up. "Now, Callie..."

Her eyes darted up from the floor, meeting my gaze for a half-second.

"Just go," Callie whispered, turning her head away again. "Please just go..."

Suddenly, a feeling of rage swept through my body, drunken anger mixing with ardor to create a dangerous, explosive cocktail.

Who the fuck was Callie fooling? I'd seen this girl seduce the camera dozens of times. I'd watched her turn bland, pabulum morning show segments into steamy, provocative television just on the strength of her own irrepressible sex appeal. I knew how she liked to behave in the presence of dominant men like Davi and Enzo and Chris Ryder. You couldn't tell me that was all just an act.

So why the fuck was she pretending to be this prude, moralistic, innocent girl? Did she still not see me as a man? Even after everything that had happened? Even now, when I held all the cards?

I remembered the way Enzo had taunted me: "It'll never be you, man. You know that, right? It'll never be you..."

She doesn't respect you, I thought, bile rising bitterly in my stomach. She won't submit unless you show dominance.

Then, in a flash, I was on my feet, moving towards Callie.

"C'mere," I growled, grabbing her with one hand as I took another swig from the bottle. "You need another drink..."

"Nate, stop, what are y--"

As Callie turned towards me, I grabbed her and planted my lips against hers. Pressing my tongue inside her mouth, I pried her lips apart, forcing a mouthful of scotch into her open mouth.

"UGHHH!" Callie shrieked in shock, the liquid spilling from her mouth as she cried. "OHMYGOD WHAT--WHAT THE FUCK--"

"MISTER--WALSH!!" I roared, pulling her hair back as I took another swig from the bottle. "You will call me... MISTER WALSH..."

Before Callie could react, I leaned over her, looked down, and spit the musky brown liquor all over her beautiful face.

"EWWWW!!" Callie cried in revulsion, thrashing as her legs gave way, collapsing onto the bed in a heap. "STOP--Mr. Walsh--PLEASE--don't--"

"You need another one?" I snarled, tipping the bottle towards her. "Come on, Callie..."

She tried to crawl away, but I was on top of her in a flash, pouring the brown liquor all over her, spilling it into her mouth, dousing her bra-covered tits, watching as the scotch flowed over her curves and onto the bedsheets below.

"STOP! STOP!!" Callie cried desperately, slurring her words as liquor sloshed from her open mouth. "PLEASE, MR. WALSH, NO MORE!! I CAN'T TAKE IT--"

"You gonna be a good girl, then?" I growled, turning the bottle upright. "You gonna stop lying and listen to what I say?"

I waited for an answer, but the smell of the scotch soaking into her sheets was so strong that she could only gag, her eyes red and watery from the liquor.

"There's more still in here," I said, shaking the half-empty bottle menacingly as I stood over her. "Now are you going to be a good girl, or not?"

After several seconds, Callie stopped gagging long enough to look up at me, and I could see that her bright eyes had gone dim, her lids suddenly heavier than before. The corners of her pretty, pink little mouth had begun to droop on either side, causing her lips to hang open ever so slightly. She was down on all fours, and I could see Callie's body starting to slacken, her perfect posture sagging towards the sodden mattress beneath her.

"I'll... I'll--good," Callie hiccuped drunkenly. "I'll--I'll be--good..."

"I'm glad to hear that," I smiled, setting the bottle back on her bedside table. "Now, tell me. Where's your vibrator?"

For a moment, Callie said nothing. I reached for the bottle again.

"T--top drawer," she mumbled, her head swaying from side to side. "Un--underwear drawer..."

I stood up from the bed, walked over to her dresser, and opened the top drawer.

The contents could have been a fantasy all on their own. Callie's underwear drawer was filled with a rainbow of lingerie in every color and texture you could imagine, a toe-curling assortment of push-ups and demi bras, thongs and g-strings, a gauzy sea of silk and see-through lace. I was tempted to paw through each and every item, to inventory them for future use, but I had more pressing matters at hand.

Rifling through the drawer, it didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. Tucked discreetly in the corner was a small, black, bullet-shaped lump of silicone. Taking it in hand, I turned back towards Callie.

"Show me," I said, standing beside the bed, holding the vibrator in my outstretched hand. "Show me how you use it."

"I don't... I don't use it that--much," she whispered, her head lolling back and forth.

"I know when you're lying, Callie," I said sternly, gesturing towards the bottle of scotch. "I'm not going to warn you again."

I saw a shiver of fear run through her, followed by a heavy sigh. Then, Callie reached out meekly, taking the vibrator and rolling over onto her back. She closed her eyes, and with a practiced flip of her thumb, a low hum began to fill the room.

I watched wordlessly from above as Callie Kim reached down, past her gorgeous tits and her flat, toned stomach, lifting up the waistband of her sleep shorts. Then, ever so gently, she nestled the vibrator between her legs.

"Does that feel good?" I asked softly.

"Mmhmm," she murmured, keeping her eyes closed.

Carefully, I leaned over her, reaching for her sleep shorts. Then, ever so slowly, I began to pull them down.

"Nnnnmmm," Callie mewled, her head shaking from side-to-side even as she made no effort to stop me. As I slipped her shorts down past her mound, a pair of pink lace panties came into view.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire. "And don't you dare lie and say your fiancé..."

Callie said nothing, but she shut her eyes more tightly, as if by doing so she could somehow deny the reality of what was happening. As if perhaps she could lose herself inside her own thoughts and let them transport her away from where she was. As if maybe the gentle thrum of the vibrator, pulsing insistently against her 23-year-old pussy, could drown out the sour stench of spilled scotch that permeated the room. As if it could save her from the drunken, 38-year-old lecher who was pulling down her pants.

"Tell me, Callie," I insisted, pulling her shorts past her delicate ankles and casting them onto the floor beside her bed. "I bet you think about cheating constantly, don't you?"

Callie shook her head from side-to-side, but with the bullet vibrator still buried in her cunt, it wasn't a very convincing denial.

"I know you have fantasies, Callie," I said, gently pinching the strap of her bra between my thumb and forefinger. "Everyone does. I'm sure even Jacob thinks about other girls..."

Ever so slowly, I slid her bra strap down off her shoulder.

I waited for Callie to shudder, to squirm, but she didn't. She just lay there, eyes shut tight, moving the vibrator in little circles between her legs. So I reached across her chest and did the same thing on the opposite side.

"I wonder if Jacob ever thinks about you being with another guy," I whispered. "I bet he does. I bet he thinks about it all the time..."

Suddenly, Callie took a deep breath, a little crease furrowing her brow as if she were concentrating deeply on something.

"I bet he's obsessed with it, isn't he?" I said, toying the strap of Callie's bra as it slid down her arm. "With what you do for work, and the kind of stuff you post on Instagram, I bet it's all he thinks about... I bet it keeps him up at night, the thought of what his sexy little Asian fiancee is doing behind his back, all alone in LA..."

Callie was still silent, but I could see that her lips were quivering, as if something inside her was trying to force its way out.

"Is he the jealous type? Does he try to control you?" I whispered, the tips of my fingers grazing her collarbone as I moved my hand to her throat. "Let me tell you something, Callie. He acts like he's jealous because he can't handle what he's really feeling."

I wrapped my fingers gingerly around her throat, applying just enough pressure for Callie to feel them. Her nostrils flared wide open as her lips parted, drawing in a sharp, ragged breath.

"Do you know what he's really feeling?" I whispered, the pads of my fingers gently massaging her neck. "Should I tell you his dirty little secret?"

"M--Mr. Walsh," Callie whispered, shaking her head ever so slightly, her eyes still shut. "P--please..."

"The secret," I said, moving my lips close to her ear. "His secret is... he can't stop thinking about it because, deep down, he wants you to cheat..."

"N--no," Callie mewled.

"He knows you're... you're too fucking hot to be with him," I whispered, nibbling her earlobe as I spoke. "You're way out of his league, Callie, and it turns him on to know that it's only a matter of time..."

"That's not--that's not true..."

"It turns him on to wonder who it'll be," I continued, massaging her neck with one hand, reaching between my legs with the other. "I bet he's already jacked off to the thought of you fucking your boss, or some influencer you met on Instagram, or a random guy who danced up on you at the club..."

"Jay--Jay's not like that," Callie whispered. I couldn't tell if it was the liquor, or my fingers dancing around her throat, but she sounded increasingly unsure of herself. "He wouldn't..."

"Or maybe... maybe he likes to think about that tight little body of yours pinned beneath the big, Black, Brazilian guy he saw you with on TV," I growled, pulling my cock free from my jeans.

"Ohgod," Callie gasped, a shudder passing through her.

"That's it, isn't it?" I smirked, stroking her neck with one hand and my turgid shaft with the other. "He knows you wanted to fuck Davi. Hell, everyone knows it. We all saw the way you let him manhandle you..."

"Fuck, I--I don't," she squealed unconvincingly. "I didn't--"

"You were practically ready to let him take you on camera," I sneered in disdain. "So what was it about him? When did you decide to fuck him?"

"I didn't!!" Callie moaned. "I didn't fuck him!"

"But you wanted to," I growled. "You wanted it so fucking bad..."

"Ohh--ohgod--ohgod," Callie whispered, her breaths getting shallower and shallower. She was practically hyperventilating now.

"WHY?!" I cried angrily, squeezing my fingers around her neck, just enough to remind her of how vulnerable she was. "TELL ME WHY!!"

"He--ohgod--he reminded me," Callie squealed, tremors in her voice. "Of... of someone else..."

"WHO?!" I snarled, smelling blood in the water. "TELL ME WHO!!"

"A... a guy... from--from college..."

"Tell... me... everything," I grunted, stroking myself up and down, reveling in how close I was to the truth. "And if you fucking lie to me, Callie, I swear to god..."

I gave her neck another squeeze.

"I'll--I'll tell you!" she whispered, obviously terrified. "Just--don't... Mr. Walsh, please don't tell Jacob..."

"Who was he?" I asked, ignoring her plea.

"I was--there was--he was," Callie stammered. "He was part of... of Jacob's fraternity..."

My heart was racing, pumping blood directly to my cock, which felt harder than it had in years.

"He was the--the only Black guy in... in Jacob's frat," she continued. "I always--always wondered about that..."

Up until this point, I'd had to push Callie every step of the way, coercing her to comply with my desires. But now, I'd touched some kind of nerve, and she was suddenly speaking freely.

"He was... we were... the same year," she murmured. "Senior year, after Jacob graduated, he--there was this coed beer pong tournament at his frat, in the spring..."

Slowly, I loosened my fingers from around her neck, sliding them down towards her chest. I could tell that she didn't need any more coaxing.

"I'd always played with Jay, but he was in... in Manhattan, at medical school," she breathed. "So when--when Isaiah asked me to be his partner, I just--I told him I had to ask Jay if it was okay..."

"And did you ask him?"

"I--I would've, but... Isaiah, he kind of made me feel like that was... childish," she whispered. "'It's just beer pong,' he said, like there was something--something wrong with me, if I had to ask Jay for permission..."

My fingers were tracing the cups of Callie's bra now, gently lifting them away from her skin.

"So you didn't ask, did you?"

"I just... somehow, Isaiah got me to--to just say okay," Callie continued. "So then I--I couldn't ask for permission, because I'd already told him yes..."

"How did that feel?" I asked, curling my finger underneath the cup of her bra. "Did it turn you on to keep that a secret from your boyfriend?"

"Ohgod, I--I don't know," Callie whined, squirming as my finger brushed against her nipple. "Mr. Walsh, I'm... I'm too drunk for this..."