Erotica Made to Order 01

This is part 1 of the "Erotica Made to Order" series. This installment was inspired by AG82.

Erotica Made to Order 01: The Orbit of Him

Rounding the corner of the cereal aisle, Abby stopped short. Her mind, filled as it almost always was with the must-do minutiae of the day, suddently went blank. She stared for several seconds at the familiar shape in the middle distance, a tall man in a long dark coat standing curiously in front of a pile of lemons.

The rush of unnamable familiarity washed over her. He was someone she had known, surely- or perhaps he was just someone who looked a bit like someone else. It wasn't a question of "who is he?" but more a matter of "is he...?"

Instantly, she slunk backward out of the intersection avoid being being seen. From a distance it looked just like him, the square shoulders, the carriage of his body. As she peered a little more intently, though, she managed to convince herself that it couldn't possibly be her former lover Brock, a rather forced conclusion that brought her a kind of limited relief. His hair was shorter and a litle darker than she remembered. More than that, he didn't seem to have that intense piercing stare. He was just some Joe Schmoe at the grocery store like everybody else. Brock, she reassured herself, wasn't a Saturday afternoon grocery shopping guy. He had always seemed more the Tuesday at 4am type; just the essentials, no small talk- milk, eggs, lube. Besides, he was a thousand miles away now- or so she had heard.

She could have solved the mystery right then and there by simply approaching him and saying "hello," but the painfully shy Abby couldn't dare do such a thing. Instead, she watched him select a lemon and shuffle away into the florescant din.

That night she found it impossible to sleep, rewinding the non-event in her mind over and over as she lay in bed. It wasn't him, of course. That would be ridiculous. And even if it was, why would he ever want to talk to her again after the way things had ended between them?

Years had passed, but the painful morass of their relationship remained as real for her as anything in her life. They were, from the very beginning, doomed to fail as a couple-- as different as two people could be. For a breif while, though, they had something incredible. Abby, an introvert since childhood, adored the socially gregarious Brock, and being with him gave her a kind of permission to explore long-neglected feelings and urges.

As a lover, he was the most intense she had ever known. It was not enough for him to simply make love to her. He took singular pleasure in coaxing her out of her shell, baby step by baby step. He taught her to enjoy her femininity and to relish the power she derived from the pleasure she gave him. Soon, however, he wanted more. For Brock, true love was a kind of possession.

To have her emotionally and sexually, he had to possess her completely. In the end, their tempestuous union boiled down to a simple choice between him or her own emotional independence. At that point in her life, there really wasn't a choice. She had just gotten out of school and was just getting established on her own. She couldn't even consider giving up an independence that she had yet to earn.

On her back in bed, her fingers unconsciously travelled down her sides and peeled down her plain white cotton panties. As her mind filled with memories of Brock's touch, his eyes, his voice, her fingers began to slowly rub along the stiffening nub of her cliterus. Her legs spread wider as her hand dug deep into her body, desperately trying to simulate the feeling of Brock's cock inside her.

The next day, the ringing of her phone broke the silence.

"Hello?" she asked. At first she heard only air on the other end of the call. She repeated herself.

"Abbigail," said a low, calm voice. "Hello."

He didn't identify himself. He didn't have to. In a way she was glad for this because just hearing his name again would probably have been too much of a shock.

"Hello," she replied. She was mirroring him again. The same old games. Simon says.

"I am calling to let you know that I'm back in town for a few weeks," he said. "I've actually been here a few days. I would have called sooner but- I think you know why I didn't. When I saw you last night, I thought it best to do the decent thing and call you."

His voice. Her body involuntarily reacted to the sounds vibrating through her spine. "I appreciate that," she said, summoning an air of independence, "but it's hardly necessary."

"I think it is," he said. "I hate the way things ended between us."

Assuming that he was referring to how she had dumped him, she began to apologize but he stopped her. It was he who needed to apologize, not her. All this time he had blamed himself for the horrible choice that he forced her to make. He wanted to see her again just to say those words in person.

She began to make excuses and vague references to a busy schedule but he would have none of it. "I need to see you, Kitten."

At the sound of that word, the precise inflection of his voice when he said it, her body tingled with sexual urgency. She could feel the wetness gathering between her legs. The power this man still had over her was palpable.

The note on her fridge was a spine tingling novel in mineature: "Brock- the pump room restaurant - tonight at 8p."

She steeled herself against what would surely be the greatest test of personal strength in her adult life. She couldn't fall under his spell again. She couldn't let his charisma- his always perceptable sexual energy lead her down that path again. He may have been able to mold her and shape her years ago, but he was no match for her now.

In her closet she searched for a long while for the right outfit that fit the occasion. Unable to find a sequinned gown with the words "I'm over you" emblazoned in giant letters across the front, she chose an elegant red dress with a skirt just below the knee. At five feet and ten inches tall, Abby wasn't about to risk falling on her face in heels. She slipped on a pair of black flats.

She stopped- the ensemble wasn't complete yet. From the lowest, least-opened drawer in her dresser she pulled out a pair of nylons. She made up a new rule for herself. It was OK to feel a little sexy underneath as long as she wasn't doing it for him.

As she pulled them on over her legs, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her legs were long, shapely. She liked the way they looked. She used to love the way he reacted when she wore short skirts.

OK, maybe she was doing it for him- but only to sexually frustrate him, to tease him a little with a whiff of what he can no longer have.

At the restaurant he was waiting for her, which was surprising. He had always seemed to take some pleasure in making her wait.

"How have you been?" he asked as he pulled out her chair for her. His eyes in the candlelight were as bright and fiery as ever.

"Good," she replied. "I'm good."

"You were in Europe for a while?" she asked by way of smalltalk.

"Yes, some business. Dull stuff, really. I'm in the States for a month working on a new project."

She began to talk about her job, perhaps as a way to prove to him and to herself that she had succeeded in some way since leaving him. He listened intently for a few minutes then suddenly stopped her.

"I want you to do something," he said without pretense of changing the subject. "I want you to put your hand on my knee."

"Brock, that isn't going to work on me anymore. I'm different. I've-"

"I wasn't asking," he said flatly. "I simply made the statement that I want you to. What you choose to do is entirely up to you, is it not?"

"I suppose so."

"There you go. Do not think that I have not noticed every detail of your gorgeous visage tonight. Your hands are particularly lovely. You got a manicure recently, I see."

"No, I just keep them neatly filed," she said cautiously holding her crisp red nail up for him to see. Unpainted but perfectly shaped, each nail had a crisp white tip.

"I like them a great deal," he said. "It pleases me to see you so put together, so feminine."

"I must admit that I get a kick out of it, too." In truth, she was more interested in his reaction. She wanted more.

Under the table, she briefly rested her hand on his upper thigh. "There," she said defiantly. But rather than pull her hand away she found herself strangely held transfixed by the warmth of his body. She glanced over at his warm smile. In it there were a thousand pages of untold stories, a thousand urges waiting to be expressed. With her thumb, she could feel the bulge of his pants growing slowly.

"How does that make you feel?" he asked. "To know that it's right here for you- all for the taking."

She did not want to answer, and yet she would not pull her hand away. If she concentrated very hard she could feel his heartbeating through the fabric of his pants.

"Unzip me," he demanded.

Her eyes flashed with terror and revulsion. No. Not here. Not now. Not me. She could feel his cock rubbing against her thumb now, and instintually she reached out for it and grasped the outline of his shaft. He closed his eyes for a moment With some difficulty she reached for the zipperhead and slowly, soundlessly, opened his fly. A wave of heat escaped and the smell of his sex wafted into her nose. Without hesitation, she reached in and grabbed hold of his cock, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Kitten," he said slowly. "You are an incredible woman."

Soon the waiter arrived with menus, and she struggled to find a way to bring her hands up from Brock's crotch in a less than obvious way. Instead, she kept it there, squeezing the head as the young man rattled off the list of specials.

As soon as the intruder exited the scene, Brock turned to Abby. "I know it's an awful cliche to rush out in a situation like this, but in this case I think it's appropriate."

She agreed.

"Could you do the honors?" he asked, nodding downward.

She sealed his monster back in its cage and, after pretending to get an emergency text, they sped off in his car in the direction of his downtown hotel. As they drove, her heart raced. She couldn't take her eyes off of his crotch. "For such a shy girl, you really are a naughty one," he said amusedly. "You want it in your mouth don't you?"

She knew from past experience that he was waiting for a response. He did not believe in rhetorical questions. "... Yes," she said at length. "I do."

"Where else do you want it?"

"... Inside me."

"Where?"

"I want it in my pussy, sir."

His smile grew broader and brighter at the sound of her old name for him. "I'm very happy to hear that."

Once through the lobby and alone in the elevator, the shy girl turned to Brock and kissed him deeply. Her hands spread out on his expansive chest. His arms wrapped around her. He pushed the number for the top foor, some fifty stories above them.

"I'm ready," she said. "I'm ready to give myself to you in a way I couldn't before."

"Somehow I knew you would be," he said.

Perhaps as a test or perhaps as an acknowledgement of her decision, he placed his hand on the back of her neck and pushed downward. She kissed her way down his chest to his stomach. She looked up at him with a measure of fear in her eyes. He nodded with a kind of empathy but pressed even harder on her shoulders. Terrified but eager to feel him in her mouth again, she opened his fly and pulled out his thick, meaty penis. The smell of it was intoxicating. She opened wide and could feel saliva forming in the edges of her mouth.

"Show me how a bad girl sucks a cock, kitten."

She was on her knees now, kneeling before his cock like an ardent worshiper of cum. She licked him from the base to the tip, massaging his balls all the while. With a hand on the back of her head pulling her down onto his cock, she relaxed her throat and took him in. His cock pulsed and throbbed in her mouth. It thrilled her to know that she had made him this way. She knew she could make him cum. She ached for the validation of her sir's semen inside her. It would be a serious challenge to bring him to ejaculation in just a minute or so, but the challenge of it spurred her on. Soon every part of her joined in the cause of making Brock cum by the top floor- both hands pumping him as her mouth and tongue worked his cock like a professional. She could taste the thick dab of precum in her mouth. He was close and she knew it.

Suddenly, she felt the elevator slowing. Glancing over she saw that they were only half way up. Quickly she stood up and shoved him back into his pants just as a quartet of elderly women arrived and filed in to join them.

Abby asked them what floor they wanted. The tallest of the group turned and said that they were headed to a senior's mixer on the 40th floor ballroom. They were going to get lucky, the lady said, and if she didn't watch it they were going to steal that hunk of man meat next to her.

"Not on your life, lady," said Abby jokingly. "This man is all mine- or rather, I'm all his."

As soon as the ladies filed out, she kissed him again, the fain taste of his precum on her tongue. She reached down and pulled him out- even though she only had a few floors left she wasn't about to give up. Her mouth clamped onto his cock tightly. His hands gripped her head on either side, pulling her up and down and then all the way down. Her lips pressed against his groin as the head of his cock pushed all the way back into her throat. Her gag reflex was about to kick in but she continued to fight it as best she could. She could sense it start down in his balls, a low rumbling vibration. Then suddenly she felt his cock explode and recoil, hot cum roaring out of hiim and into her throat. She smiled warmly as she continued to stroke him, milking him of every last drop. He smiled down at her and stroked her hair lovingly.

He helped her up off her knees, and as she turned to leave she saw that the elevator doors had been open for quite some time while she knelt there sucking him off. Anyone could have seen them. She was morified on some level but far too aroused to care at this point. She rooted around for his card key.

"We're not going tto the room," he said sternly, nodding toward the "authorized personnel only" stairs. Up two flights of industrial steps and past a locked door, they found themselves on the roof of the old hotel in the heart of the downtown area. The whole of the city lie at their feet, white dots of light spreading out across the horizon in a limitless sea of activty. Though it was windy at this altitude, the air was warm and surprisingly comfortable.

Brock walked reached behind the access door to fetch the bag he had evidently stashed there hours earlier. From it, he produced a pair of soft nylon ropes. He then walked Abby over to the stone ledge and tied each wrist to the u-shaped iron moorings that held billboards in place decades earlier. Her long body was now bent over the ledge. Her face looked out over the city with her red dress flapping up behind her to expose her panties. She took in her surroundings. There was enough light up there to see, but that also meant that they could be seen from the windows of the other taller buildings nearby. She was completely exposed, her ass hanging out for anyone to see.

He pressed up behind her. She could feel his cock, already rock hard again, rubbing against her ass cheeks in the night air.

"You told me that you want me in your pussy," he said at last. "Is that true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Say the words, kitten. You don't get your reward unless I hear the words."

"I want you to fuck my little pussy, sir."

"Very good," he said.

His pants fell down at his ankles and he easily stepped out of them. She could feel his cock head tracing the curves of her body. Her pussy was shaking with desire. He reached down between her legs and slowly peeled down her panties. She juggled her legs a bit so he could take them all the way off. He held them up to his mouth and smelled them. He put them in his mouth and tasted them.

"You are delicious," he said. "Do you want a taste?"

"Mmm hmmm," she said eagerly and took her own panties into her mouth. As she wrung the juices from the fabrick with her lips and tongue, she could feel his hands on her bare pussy.

With the head of his penis presssing against her clitorous he leaned over her and demanded, "Say the words."

"Mmm please," she said, through the panties in her mouth. "Please fuck me."

His hands tightened down on her hips and his cock rammed into her soft, wet pussy. He pounded her like a beast, each thrust pushing her out over the ledge a little more. The danger of it drove her mad with desire. Her pussy twithed and spasmed as she approached orgasm. Just when it seemed she was about to cum, he leaned forward, grabbed her long hair and pulled.

"You want to cum, don't you, kitten?"

"Yes, sir. More than anything."

"Not yet."

He untied her temporarily and moved her around to face him. He reached around her and unzipped her dress and let it fall to the ground. She was now naked, exposed. He kissed her, his hands on her face. he leaned her back against the ledge and tied her hands to the moorings again. He put his hand on her pussy and inserted a pair of fingers. Her hips involuntarily writhed. He lowered himself down and kissed her stomach. Her tied hands could not reach him, though she wanted very badly to be able to touch him. His mouth wrapped around her clit with his fingers still inside her. He drew her cliterous into his mouth and sucked hard. Involuntarily she began chanting "ohmygod ohmyhod..."

"You may cum now," he said. "Cum for me."

On those words, as if on command, her pussy convulsed in powerful orgasm. He stood up and kissed her hard, mingling their juices, and rammed himself back inside her still-cumming pussy.

"Are you my slut, kitten?"

"Yes."

"Say the words."

"I am your slut."

Her orgasm seemed like it would not stop. She was flying over the city with his cock buried in side her. In the midst of his danger, she was safe. In his bondage, she was free.