Dark Art Ch. 06

Picking her way through the crowded restaurant, she found the door to one of the bathrooms and knocked five times, as instructed. When the lock clicked open, she knew it was the right room although she couldn't see anyone inside and stepped in, allowing the door to click shut behind her.

There were some brown napkins on the floor, and the small tiled room smelled faintly of piss, making her cover her nose with one hand. Ric locked the door before walking back to the other side of the room, pulling a few elegantly sealed plastic baggies out of the pockets in his cargo pants and putting them on the bathroom sink.

"That's a lot," she said, but Ric only laughed a little and said. "Yeah, that's not all for you. Pick out what you want."

As she looked over the bags, each filled with round green nuggets of marijuana flower, Ricard came up behind her, hooking his arms around her waist, disturbingly like Ivan had done in the attic. She tensed, ready to jump away from him, but then forced herself to stand still as his hands reached under her shirt to touch her bare skin.

She and Ric had been sort of dating, sort of not, ever since she was a freshman. It was hard to put a label on their relationship, exactly, as she was aware that Ricard had "relationships" with several girls on campus, but if she had to describe it in a word, it would be, at least partially... transactional.

"Let me see those little titties," he said, leaning down over her so that his head could rest on her shoulder.

She grabbed the hem of her shirt automatically, hesitating for a moment when an image of Ivan flashed into her mind.

Stop thinking about him, she berated herself, but his words still echoed uncomfortably in her subconscious: This is what men expect of you. You should be used to this by now.

Ric's hands squeezed her ribcage from both side as she pulled her shirt over her head. In part, she actually was used to male attention by now. At least, she knew what she looked like, her unusual features attracting stares her entire life..but it didn't mean she was any more comfortable with it as an adult than she'd been growing up.

Men could just be so...intense. She thought it was very unfair that nature had made women so much smaller and weaker, but what was she supposed to do about it? Never make any progress in life at all?

Ric was grabbing her chest with both hands, squeezing the meat of her breasts through the thin fabric of flower-printed sports bra while watching their reflection in the mirror.

"God, you're so hot," he whispered while slipping his fingers under the elastic band of her bra. Moments later, he pulled the garment over her head and she was left standing there in only her jeans, her nipples prickling against the cold bathroom air.

It felt wrong to be touched by him, by another man on the same day, but it didn't feel bad. His hands were a little calloused, but his touch was surprisingly adept, one hand now splayed across both nipples, as the other reached into her jeans.

She pressed her knee's together when his fingers found her clitoris through the fabric of her underwar, the increasing pressure making her cry out softly.

"Yeah baby, arch your back for daddy," he said, reaching for her neck with his other hand, but the motion made her jerk backwards so sharply that even Ricard seemed startled.

"What's wrong?" he asked as she spun around to face him.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Sorry."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but moved on, putting both hands on her hips and physically lifting her body so that he could set her on the ledge of the sink and suck on her nipples.

The pleasure was overwhelming. She couldn't help but let a small another moan escape her lips, her head falling back and her legs naturally wrapping around his hips.

"I don't know why you even wear a bra," he observed, switching to her other nipple. "You don't need one."

She didn't know how to respond to this in words, but his touch made her breathing hitch and her hands instinctively reach for his shoulders. At this, he began grinding against her, standing up more fully so that their faces were only inches apart.

"You're so cute," he said, one hand reaching behind her head to help stabilize her weight. "I love the braids."

He landed a kiss on her bottom lip, and then another on her mouth, breathing heavily as he practiced his French kissing.

"Mm- thanks," she mumbled as he continued, his tongue flitting between her teeth to get deeper.

"Call me daddy," he whispered.

She closed her eyelids, rolling her eyes and raising the pitch of her voice an octave, the way she knew he liked it.

"Thanks... daddy."

"Mmm," he moaned into her mouth. "You need this cock in your mouth, don't you little girl?"

She had to force herself not to roll her eyes this time, and instead, contorted her face into the softest, most coquettish smile she could muster.

"Yes, daddy," she said, while he picked her up off the counter and instead deposited her on the rim of the toilet.

Why do I let him do this? Serafine thought helplessly, then glanced at the baggies of weed on the counter before her attention shifted to Ricard's groin, the familiar sound of a zipper coming undone making the rest of the room seem to fall away.

The first thing she saw was a tangle of reddish pubes, before he pulled out an uncircumcised pink cock and nudged her knees apart so he could stand over her, squeezing the base of his dick while untucking his balls from his boxers.

"Hold up those titties together for daddy," he said, looking down as she reluctantly did as she was told, cupping her breasts from below. It was humiliating sitting like this, the sound of him jacking himself off right in front of her face making her squirm uncomfortable...not that he seemed to notice.

There were tattoo's all over his body, strange phrases which she'd first thought made him look edgy and intellectual.

ALEA IACTA EST

Aure Sacre Fames

Now, she hated the tattoos. She'd seen them too many times and they'd lost the cool intellectual edge.

One in particular, in thick gothic script running from hip-to-hip sat right above where the waistband of his pants would normally be, so she had no choice but to look at it.

NUNC ES BIBENDUM

Ancient Latin or Greek or something, she couldn't remember. After looking up the meaning herself her freshman year, she'd regretted it, and all the fetishes she'd found out he had after.

"Squeeze them together," he said, but when she tried to, her face reddened, because she could barely create any cleavage at all. Not that he seemed to mind, as even the attempt made him rapidly jerk his cock against her lips.

Even when she closed her eyes she could still see him masturbating in front of her. The curse of being an artist, her overactive imagination.

A couple of times he reached for her nipples, squeezing and twisting gently before withdrawing his touch, his voice taking on a progressively more babying tone.

"You want daddy's cum don't you, little one? Yes you do. And I'm going to give it to you," he grunted and then suddenly reached for her forehead so that she had to lean backwards on the toilet. When she tried to get up again, he leaned his weight against her skull so that she was pinned to the cistern and growled, "Little hetaira" before giving a loud, "Ooooh," and shaking clear, viscous semen over her breasts.

"Oohhh, ahhhhhhh," he cooed, keeping his palm on her forehead so that he could rub himself across her skin.

Disgusting, Serafine thought, closing her eyes so she didn't have to watch him do it, but in the darkness of her imagination she saw Ivan, and opened her eyes again, trying to manage the expression on her face into something like pleasure.

"Say thank you," Ricard commanded.

What was it with men and gratitude? she thought, before looking up at him plaintively.

"Thank you daddy."

"Aww, sweetheart," he said endearingly. "You're so proud to wear daddy's gifts, aren't you? Don't wash it off tonight. I want you to sleep in it. Promise me."

Serafine gathered her clothes from around the bathroom floor. With his entire stash sitting in the sink, it wasn't like she could wash herself anyway. So she grabbed two bags and stuffed them into the back pockets of her jeans, and shot him a look that she hoped was endearing.

"I promise."

Before letting her leave the bathroom, he made out with her some more, pressing her up against the bathroom door.

"I've missed you," he said.

Under her shirt, Serafine could feel semen clinging to her skin, already drying and sticking uncomfortably.

She wanted to go, but he was incessant, as if he didn't just nut all over her.

"I missed you, too," she lied. She missed the things he got her access to, but she didn't miss all of his kinks. "But I should probably get back... you know how Liz gets."

At the mention of her roommate, Ricard let her leave, with a grumbling, "Fine," allowing Serafine to slip out of the bathroom and get back to the table.

Elizabeth and Noah were laughing about something when she arrived to see the food had already been brought out. She picked at her bowl of ramen, but couldn't think of anything to say as she sat there, hyperaware of Ricard's cum drying on her breasts and ribs.

Ric himself appeared a few moments later through the front door, having somehow slipped out of the restaurant like a magician. When he arrived at their table, he smelled faintly of marijuana and it was clear he'd gone outside to smoke for a couple of minutes before catching back up with the group.

Serafine looked pointedly at her food while he sat down, the creamy white broth that her ramen was swimming in not helping her imagination in the slightest.

"How rude of me," said Ricard with a flourish of his hands.

"I almost forgot, you ladies should come to my party next weekend. Pa is abroad in Treviso, so," he cleared his throat. "I have the whole place to myself for my twenty first. It's going to be a fucking bacchanal."

Elizabeth seemed interested, but Serafine hadn't stopped staring at her food, and when her roommate noticed this, she changed her tone.

"Fee, you're staring."

"What?"

When Serafine blinked, she realized everyone was looking at her, and raised up a pair of chopsticks she'd forgotten she was holding.

"I'm thinking," she insisted, but a few minutes later when the waiter appeared, Ricard paid the tab.

"Baby's tired," he said sympathetically, but she was glad for the excuse to leave and didn't correct him. Having gotten what she wanted out of the situation, she stretched into a yawn and let her eyelids flutter half-shut, one hand absently running between her breasts, as if no one else was watching.