Casanova Falling

I fucked Taryn nice and slow, just like she wanted. I was considerably less horny at this point, and this was putting me in a bind. On one hand, Taryn was clearly enjoying herself. One the other hand, this was starting to feel pretty stiff and mechanical, at least for me, and it wasn't really going anywhere. Neither of us were close to coming. How long was I expected to keep this up, anyway? My mind started wandering, thinking about ways I could get out of this. I wasn't about to try to fake an orgasm, no fucking way. I couldn't just pull out of her and be like, "Ok, we're done." Could I?

"Is everything all right?" she asked me.

"I think I'm getting a cramp," I said. It was hard to believe it had come to this -- faking a cramp to get out of having sex. It was a new low for me, to be sure, but it had to be done. Like the saying goes, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make her drink. It was clearly going to take some time with Taryn. I wasn't really sure if it was a project that I wanted to take on. Not when there were so many other, better projects to be had.

"We can stop," she said. I pulled out of her gratefully and she sat up against the bed frame. "Thank you for being so gentle and considerate," she said. "It means a lot to me." It seemed like a strange thing to say. I nodded, trying not to show my annoyance, my balls beginning to ache. She looked down at my cock, lying hard and swollen against my lower belly. 'Oh no," she said, "you must be so uncomfortable. What can I do?"

What first flashed through my mind was that a nice sloppy blowjob would go a long way toward salvaging the evening. But I was pretty sure that Taryn was not really up for it, and the results were likely to be disappointing. If I was going to get off, I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.

"Will you dance for me?" I asked.

She blushed. "I'd be embarrassed," she said, "I don't really... dance."

"Just be sexy -- you know, move around."

"Oh, I don't know."

"You know you have a great body. It's going to look hot whatever you do." She blushed again and gave a coy little smile. She knew she was hot, and deep down she wanted to show off for me.

"I'll try?"

She climbed off the bed and stood in the center of the room, kind of swaying awkwardly. She wasn't much of a dancer but her body was a work of art, the complete package. Not only those magnificent legs, but luxuriously curved hips and a slim waist, taut defined stomach and those full, beautiful breasts, her nipples still as stiff and erect as they'd been when her dress first came off. I began to stroke my cock, tentatively at first, feeling a little like some pervert at a peep show.

This seemed to encourage her. Her movements gradually became looser and sexier. She had her back to me now, the muscles in her back and shoulders moving sinuously and her delicious firm, round ass swinging from side to side. I began to stroke it faster, just staring hungrily at her body. I knew I would be ashamed with myself later but at this moment I couldn't stop staring at her and jacking myself off. In my deviant mind she was face down, ass up on my bed and I was clutching those round hips, pulling her onto my huge cock, just plowing her, and she was wailing and reflexively thrusting her ass back into me, a look of utter amazement on her face that it could feel this fucking good.

I came with a loud groan, blowing a large, sticky load all over my stomach and chest.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed, "let me get you a towel."

Once I was cleaned off, she curled up next to me like a little cat and purred contentedly. Long after she had fallen asleep, I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. It had been a long, strange evening. Somehow I'd been too nervous to make a move on Taryn so she'd ended up seducing me. Then I'd faked a cramp to avoid having sex with her. And of course, for the grand finale, I jerked off all over myself. Somewhere along the way I had lost my mojo. That much was certain. And on top of it, Taryn was acting strangely, like she wanted to have sex but she really didn't. I was damned if I could come up with an explanation for any of this.

Taryn left early the next morning. She sent me a text a few days later telling me I was a sweetheart and that she had a good time. No one has ever called me a sweetheart before. I didn't respond. Like I said earlier, she didn't belong on my list and I'm not sure how she ended up there. Perhaps it was an accident; the result of my clumsy fingers tapping furiously through my phone's many windows and menus. Or maybe I did it when I was drunk, and I just don't remember.

I wish I hadn't slept with Taryn. Just gone home after a few drinks and left it there. I'm not going to see her again. It just feels too awkward and weird now. I don't know if she even wants to see me again. I should have just left our relationship right where it was but, you know, shoot first, ask questions later. It was like I suddenly became a different person when I was around her -- awkward, insecure, unpredictable. I just can't put myself through that again.

What I could really use right now is a visit from Megan, but she's on a business trip until next week so I'll have to keep it in my pants for now.

CHAPTER 5

Ronnie Meadows idly swirls her wine glass and scrutinizes the bookshelves in my living room. Her brow is furrowed so she's clearly found something distasteful in my library. Ronnie's a slender brunette with piercing pale blue eyes, perfect posture and cheekbones for days. She looks like Debbie Harry circa 1978, but with long, straight brown hair. My friend Jim tells me I'm punching well above my weight with Ronnie. Even if that was true, I would never admit it to Jim, or to anybody else.

I'm in the kitchen unwrapping a hunk of cheese that Ronnie just bought at one of her artisanal stores. Even wrapped tightly in paper and plastic, it smells like a dead man's feet. There's no way I'm eating this. You can only push a man so far. Once unwrapped, the smell is apocalyptic, taking up residence in my nostrils and refusing to leave. I'm rummaging through my cupboards trying to find some sort of accompaniment because I know that Ronnie will find a single lump of cheese on a plate to be unacceptable.

Ronnie has strong views about many things. Her views are insidious, like the smell of this cheese, they move in and take over, until you find yourself worrying, 'what would Ronnie think?' - even when she's not around. I refuse to be trained and molded to her liking. But on the other hand, I just want to get her clothes off and not derail the evening with a stupid argument about how to serve cheese. This is the power she wields.

Also, she hates being called Ronnie. She is, unequivocally, Veronica. I strongly advise against calling her Ronnie, at least to her face.

The best I can come up with for the cheese is a couple of grapes and a handful of almonds, but it looks more respectable. Ronnie moans and swoons over each bite. She ignores the grapes and almonds.

"Oh, it's fantastic," she says, holding a smelly chunk to my mouth, "you must try." I politely decline. She takes a sip of her wine and grimaces. "Doesn't pair well at all," she pronounces, pushing the wine glass away. "Where did you find such an acidic cabernet?"

I tell her she's going to stink like that cheese if she keeps wolfing it down. She smiles and places her hand over my lips, so that the hellish odor wafts off her fingers and straight up my nose.

"You'll crave this smell by the time I'm done with you," she whispers, smiling devilishly and popping another hunk of cheese into her mouth. Not bloody likely. A line has to be drawn somewhere.

Ronnie demands that we take a bath. I tell her the tub is too small for two people.

"I don't want to fuck in there," she says, "I just want to relax." I draw the bath, somewhat relieved that I'm not going to expected to perform in the confines of my small and rarely cleaned bathtub. Ronnie wiggles out of her Balenciaga mini dress. Her body is magnificent, lean and flawless, like an airbrushed lingerie model. Deeply tanned despite the dark Boston winter. It's almost too perfect, really, like an aberration from the natural order. She savors my hungry look as the dress drops away, and then examines her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, entirely ignoring me as I remove my own clothes.

I sit down in the tub resting against the back. Ronnie sits down in front of me with her back against my chest. It's a tight fit, and strangely intimate in a way that Ronnie and I rarely are together. Her left buttock pins my cock tightly against my thigh, trapping it. Ronnie sighs and leans back against me until only her head and knees are above the waterline. We sit quietly for several moments, until she breaks the silence.

"One of your little friends left her birth control pills on the sink."

"Yeah, I know," I say. I have nothing to hide here. But I'm still going to get an earful about it.

"Who was it, that slutty Catholic girl?

"Does it matter?"

"Contraception's a sin, last I heard."

"I heard that too."

"And let's not forget fornication."

"Let's not."

You fuck her in this tub?"

"No."

"Good, it's dirty enough already. I bet she's coming back for those pills. Tomorrow perhaps?"

"Possibly."

"You really think she left them by mistake?"

"I don't care why she left them." Ronnie's right, of course, they were not left by mistake. But I can't help but notice how threatened she is by Megan. Megan's a tough act to follow, and Ronnie seems to have picked up on that. Ronnie may carry herself like a goddess, but like many goddesses she's as insecure and jealous and petty as the rest of us mortals.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, aware that some gears have been turning in my head.

"Slutty Catholic girls," I say. Ronnie snorts derisively, sits up and turns around so we are both facing each other in the tub. She reaches underwater and grabs my cock.

"Let's very clear about one thing," she says, grasping it firmly, "when all is said and done, this belongs to me."

"Whatever you say," I reply, trying to be cool, but as soon as she touches my cock, it hardens, I can't really help it. She begins to stroke it lightly with her expensively manicured fingertips.

"If you're going to be a cheeky boy," she says, "you can just shoot your tiny load straight into the bathwater."

"Seems like a waste. What would you get out of it?"

"Satisfaction," she says, eyes narrowing, as she pumps my cock harder in the soapy water. Suddenly we are locked in some sort of absurd sexual stand-off. I can't stand these stupid mind games with her. It was kind of a turn-on at first but it's starting to drive me fucking crazy.

What's worse is, I'm losing this stand-off. Not only am I starting at tremendous disadvantage from having been pressed next to her wet, naked body for the past ten minutes, but her hands are skilled and relentless, rubbing and stroking the length of my shaft which now rises steel-hard out of the bathwater. Her touch is sublime -- her grasp light but firm, applying just the right of amount of pressure in all the right places, squeezing and massaging and teasing my entire shaft while she fondles my balls in her other hand, which only gets me harder and hornier. How can she be so damn good at this?

She's staring intently into my eyes with a faint smile on her face; the cobra hypnotizing its prey. I return the stare, refusing to look away. The only sound is the slosh of the bathwater agitated by her hands. I try to think the most unsexy thoughts I can conjure up, but they get immediately pushed aside by the sight of her, naked and smiling so sweetly, her wet, soapy tits gently bouncing as she works my cock.

I know I've already lost, it's just a matter of time. We've been here before. She'll bring me right up to the edge and then leave me there, balls aching, desperate and horny, and come up with some new diabolical game to deny me further. I can feel the orgasm gathering for its final ignition. I try to remain as stoic as possible but a short exhalation of breath betrays me, together with the increased throbbing of my cock in her hands. I want to jump up out of the tub and tell her to fuck off, but I know I never will. I'm just putty in her hands, and somehow that makes me even hornier, although I wish it wouldn't.

"So close now," she whispers, adjusting her grip so she's applying constant friction on that heavenly spot beneath my throbbing cockhead. I suddenly realize that she's not going to leave me on edge. This time her game plan is different.

Then I explode, groaning as my cock squirts uselessly into the bathwater, just like Ronnie told me it would. She smiles sweetly, the cat that ate the canary, milking my cock dry with slow, tight strokes of her right hand while squeezing my balls firmly with the left.

"Let's get it all out," she says, "feels good to just release it all, doesn't it?" Once I've been thoroughly drained, she stands up in the tub, towering over me, her slick, waxed pussy just inches from my face. She lifts my chin up with her fingers so I'm staring up into her ice-blue eyes.

"Now we're gonna fuck," she says, "and I want to be fucked good, or I'm going to have to seriously reassess this whole arrangement." The smell of that unholy cheese on still on her fingers. She steps out of the tub, dries herself with a few dramatic swipes of the towel and struts out of the bathroom.

I feel totally spent. My dick is steadily softening and my come floats uselessly around the bottom of the tub. This bout is over and we've each gone back to our corners. Ronnie wins round one. Fucking her right now is going to be a true test of my virility. Particularly after my marathon session with Megan last night. Ronnie knows this. She is setting me up to fail. I can hear her already: 'Just not much of a man today, huh, Archer? Too bad, that big dick turned out to be pretty useless after all.'

It's the constant power dynamics, the games, they're fucking exhausting. I just want to lie back in the tub and close my eyes and lie here in the warm water.

That's what she wants. She wants me to lie here, my dick shriveling, too spent to get up off the mat. It would be a TKO, her final victory over me. I'm damned if I'm going to just let her roll right over me like this. If I go down, I'm going down swinging. A charged sense of resolve and purpose sweeps over me.

The first thing I have to do is get my dick hard again.

I begin rubbing it, imagining Megan down there, working it enthusiastically with her lips and her tongue and her throat, using every means at her disposal to get me hard. My cock begins to harden in my grasp, but I'm still sort of semi-erect, hitting a plateau that I can't quite get past. I think about Taryn doing her awkward little dance in my bedroom while I watch her, stroking myself off like I'm doing right now. Her lithe hips are swaying and rolling and her round little ass swings back and forth and I'm leaning forward in the bed watching her, furiously stroking my steel hard erection and wanting to plunge it into her so badly.

I realize my cock is now fully engorged and rock hard. Wasting no time, I jump out of the tub and rush out into the bedroom, where Ronnie is lounging naked on my bed reading a magazine. She looks up, startled, as I burst from the bathroom, naked and dripping with a tremendous hard-on and a steely glint in my eye.

"Back for more?" she says, sitting up on the bed.

I grab hold of her without a word and flip her over so she's face down on the bed, lifting her lower body so her ass moves into position.

"Take it easy," she squawks, but maintains the position for me. No time for manners here, she's wet and ready so I shove my cock into her trim little pussy.

She lets out a sexy little shriek as she's suddenly filled to the hilt.

"Fuck you," she gasps. Very soon all she can do is moan and clutch the bedsheets as I drive my cock home. She looks so sexy like this, hair tousled and falling over her face, cheeks flushed, eyes dull, mouth hanging open, unable to do anything except take my cock. I've completely turned the tables on her. All the attitude and the sharp comments and the mind games are a distant memory and I'm moving fast now, long powerful strokes in constant rhythm, steadily and relentlessly ratcheting up the intensity until her body goes limp and she's wailing, her face pressed hard into the pillow.

"When all is said and done," I sing out, "this pussy belongs to me."

She's too far gone to react. It's time to deliver the coup de gras, a fucking so good that it'll be forever imprinted in her mind, and she'll know that despite all the games and all the bullshit, it was this dick that just absolutely lit her up. My hips become a blur, thighs slapping against the backs of her legs like the reports of a gun ringing out in my uncarpeted bedroom. She's kind of squirming under me and she's gone silent and her knuckles are white where they grab the sheets.

I'm savoring the thrill of victory as I enter the home stretch. Ronnie fucked around and found out, her little dominatrix games don't mean shit because I'm horny as hell and I'm insatiable, Quick Draw McGraw, the Fastest Gun In The West...

Suddenly everything goes white and I bellow in triumph as my cock goes off like a cannon inside her.

The world comes slowly back into focus. I pull out and walk into the bathroom, leaving her lying insensible on the bed. I drink a glass of water and admire myself in the mirror. My dick is steadily softening but its work is done, time for a well-earned rest. I'm looking forward to Ronnie's reaction. She'll probably turn it around on me, claim I didn't get her off, or something like that. But deep down she'll know she got owned.

When I return to the bedroom, Ronnie is sitting up, her hand between her legs, staring at me with icy blue eyes.

"What the fuck" she says.

"What's wrong?"

"What the hell did you just do to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"It feels like someone stuck a jackhammer between my legs," she hisses. "It fucking hurts."

"I knew it. I knew you'd come up with some excuse."

"Excuse? You think I'm making this up?

"Ronnie, we've fucked a dozen times, I know when you're enjoying it."

"It's Veronica, asshole. And obviously you don't."

"So why didn't you say something? I'm just hearing this now?

"I shouldn't have to," she snaps. "You should know when a woman's in pain. Stop watching so much porn, it's fucked up your head."

"I don't watch porn. Just admit -- it was a stupid game, and you lost!"

"A game? That's what you were doing, winning a game?

"It's always been a game. Be honest for once."

"It's called sexual role play, Archer. It's supposed to be a turn-on, not a reason to hurt me. Which clearly you don't give a shit about."

"You act like this all the time. It's only 'role play' when I call you out on it."

"I'm sorry you have such a twisted view of our relationship," she says, dressing quickly. "Maybe you should get some help before some other girl gets hurt." With that she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

I should yell some clever retort after her but I can't think of one. Now that it's a contact sport she doesn't want to play anymore. And she's wrong, by the way, I don't watch porn. At least, I haven't for a long time.

CHAPTER 6

Taryn calls me around 7pm on Tuesday. We haven't spoken for weeks. I just let the call ring through to the voicemail thinking maybe she'll just text me instead. No message, no text. A few moments later she calls again. I really don't want to answer. She's probably angry that I never called her. It's just a hassle that I don't need. But I feel cowardly just sitting here and ignoring her. I pick up on the fourth ring.