Popping The Bubble

"What's your last name?" He turned his head but not his eyes, watching me while he kissed my hand. I shuddered again.

"Nelson," I smiled, "and I'm dangerously attracted to you."

"Nonsense." He stepped back, that Ken-doll smile flashing across his lips. "There's nothing dangerous about the two of us going to dinner. Make sure you don't damage your tits when you put your seatbelt on."

"I'll let you inspect them later," I laughed, winking, "if you ask nicely." His answer was a long, slow nod as he put on some Wayfarers and moved us smoothly down the road toward town.

"So," he smiled as we whizzed along. "Poetry."

"I never tell anyone about that," I sighed. "I'm surprised I told you."

"I'm not. You told me your doorcode pretty spontaneously."

"Yeah," I snorted, "but you'd just made me cum about four times. I was not exactly in my right mind." He nodded thoughtfully.

"You're a fascinating woman, Christa Nelson," he said at last as he whipped us into the parking lot. I flushed hard, I knew, looking out the side window to hide it. "And I think you think I'm pretty fascinating, too."

I took a deep breath, feeling him beside me, wanting him inside me. "See? Dangerous."

He just laughed as he pulled into a space. I didn't even have time to slide out of the Highlander before he was there, opening my door, offering his hand. And as I stepped to the pavement, he curled his arm around my waist and did not let go, fingers spread over my hip, steering me. Possessing me.

It was incredibly sexy.

"It's been forever since I was on a date," I confessed as soon as we ordered drinks. I was relieved when it turned out he was 21; I didn't need to deal with a guy with a fake ID. "Maybe since high school, honestly."

His eyebrows rose. "You don't date?

"No." I'd only been to Zimbardo's once before. It was halfway between ritzy and merely "nice," the kind of place with really great desserts and good drinks. "I went on a couple, halfheartedly, with subscribers who seemed nice. But people used to get the wrong idea. They didn't understand the difference between Bubbles and Christa. It led to misunderstandings."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. Guys get jealous sometimes."

We sat back as the waitress brought our drinks. I'd gone for a rum and Coke, him an old-fashioned. I thought that was classy. She took the dinner order and vanished, as desired. "jealous. Of the Whang?"

"Of anyone other than them." I sipped. "It's just easier not to date."

"Lucky me, then." He nodded, pondering. "Well, what about sex?"

"What about it?" I winked. "I love it. As I think you know well."

He grinned at that, drawing himself up in the chair, that self-satisfied look coming back into his eyes. "Yeah. I guess you get plenty on the show," he mused.

"Actually, our guests choose to bang the Whang more often than popping the Bubbles." I shrugged. "As of last month, the proportion was 61% to 39%."

"No way."

I flapped a dismissive hand his way. "Don't go playing innocent, dude. You skewed those numbers yourself."

He nodded, reflecting. "Good point." His drink had an orange peel, artfully arranged, looking almost like a flower. My brain began composing a poem to it reflexively, automatically. Its curl... "So. You masturbate, then?"

"No. I call up old guests and other random hookups. One of them usually comes through." As Glen, he of the wide dick and narrow stamina, had. He'd texted me that same night, but I'd canceled once Tyler had asked me out. I thought for a moment. "I don't think I've had to masturbate since, like, the second night here at Monroe."

His head cocked. "That seems like a pretty specific estimate."

I felt a smile grow, an ironic one. "I met Elliot on the third night here."

"Ah!"

"Yep. I liked him, he liked me, and that was it."

"It?"

"It. He popped my cherry and held onto it for years. We were insatiable. He could have gotten me to do anything at all, and he often did."

Tyler's eyes glittered. "No limits?"

"None. His dick has done literally anything a penis can do with my body. Every hole, every nook and cranny. Once, he even tried to nose-fuck me. Ended up cumming in there." I chuckled at the memory. "Most of it was amazing. We were great for a long time."

He nodded. "I've seen some of the archived stuff."

"Kinkytime."

"Right. What's the most bizarre thing you guys did?"

"Ever?" I laughed. "What's this, an interview?" The waitress glided across the room while I pondered, her hands loaded down with my grilled chicken and Tyler's planked salmon. We made appreciative noises as the plates landed, me sitting there pretty sure she didn't need to hear what I'd come up with. So as soon as her pretty little ass began its retreat, I leaned over the table to whisper to him. Though I was definitely careful not to dredge my breasts in my potatoes. "So. His brother's a cop."

"Elliot's?"

"Yeah. Or maybe cousin? I dunno. Anyway, he was curious about what a taser would do to me."

He arched an eyebrow, loading a forkful of salmon. "Is this going to be illegal?"

"Would it matter if it was?"

He laughed and waved his hand. "Go on."

I smiled. "This wasn't something we did for Kinkytime. This was too much even for that. He clipped a clothespin to my clit; you know, the wooden ones. Tied a string to that, and tugged on it to make me cum while zapping me with the goddamn taser." I giggled, shaking my head as I went to cut my chicken. "Fuck, we were dumb. That was freshman year. Like, four months after I met him."

"Wow!"

"Right?" I sat back. "We were crazy there for awhile. Once he got me on cam? I lost all my inhibitions."

He nodded, then lifted his fork across the table for me. "This is delicious. I want you to taste it."

"Thank you." It should not have thrilled me to eat off his fork, not after what we'd done during Sloppy Seconds the other night, but sharing his food seemed somehow much more intimate than, say, licking his taint. "Fuck, that's good."

"Right? The capers."

"Yes. The capers." I swallowed. "It was really hard to find a hosting site for Kinkytime, until OnlyFans came along. But we figured we'd get booted from there, so when Pixboox started their Passion Pit?" I shrugged. "They've been great." He said nothing, just stared at me, so I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." He smiled. "I'm just looking at you."

I blushed. "I've never dated a hockey player before. I had no idea you guys were such fucking charmers." I took another drink. And through it all, my brain wouldn't stop churning through a poem about his orange peel... "Especially when you know you don't even have to be on your game," I added.

"Don't I?" I just stared at him, letting him think about the things he'd already done to me, and then he returned my grin. "Guess not."

"You've probably dated a million little cheerleader types," I sighed. "That was never really my thing. I was always either goth, or goth-adjacent."

"Puck bunnies." He shrugged. "They're called puck bunnies. The chicks who hang around hockey teams, looking for blowjobs to give." He looked away. "I'd say I've had my share," he nodded, "but not lately."

"No? What about that Marilyn?"

"I called her the other night and told her it wasn't going to work out," he said at once.

My blush deepened. "The other night."

"The other night." He winked. "I met a chick I'm interested in."

"Gee. I can't imagine." The choirs of angels were returning, bringing some butterflies with them for my stomach. "Is she a webcam whore?"

"No. Worse." He sipped. "She's a poet." I laughed hard at that. "What?"

I hesitated, then glanced around. "I'm doing it right now," I admitted, clarifying for the benefit of his upraised eyebrows. "Poet-ing."

"Oh." He shook his head. "It's just, when you said 'doing it,' I was thinking you were... you know..."

"Strumming my clit?" I suggested. He smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It's these past few weeks or so, I'm just, like, spontaneously generating poems and shit."

"What are you poet-ing about? Right now?" He leaned in, eyes intent.

"That's way too personal, bub. This is our first date."

"A few days ago, you had two fingers in my anus while you sucked my left testicle down to your tonsils." He smiled, a warm one, and then his hand crossed the table to clasp mine. I shivered again. "Come on. Tell me. I won't laugh."

I swallowed past a sudden constriction in my throat, like I'd just been called on to balance a chemistry equation on the board. "No, you won't," I said quietly, after a few moments. His hand was warm, caring. Possessive, like it had been on my hip as we'd crossed the parking lot, and I loved that. I squeezed his fingers. "Little things sometimes set me off. Unexpected things."

"Go on," he nodded.

"The curl of the orange peel," I told him at last, forcing the words out past a strange reluctance, like I was giving up a part of my soul. He shook his head at that, more than a little confused, before he remembered his drink order and glanced down. "It's beautiful. As soon as I saw it, I started composing. Couldn't stop."

"Don't tell me what you came up with," he said at once.

I cocked my head. "Why not? I'd have thought you'd want to hear the poem."

"Oh, I do." He smile glittered. "But you don't want to tell me yet." His fingers tightened on mine. "If you're ever ready, I'd love to hear it."

"Fuck." I whispered it, and I'm sure my eyes sent out those awed, inspired vibes. "Who the hell are you, and are all hockey players like you?"

He laughed. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never taken one of them out to dinner."

* * *

Birds seek the sky. And

Even in the tree, they pine

For where they belong.

* * *

"So. Got something in mind?" He'd laid his hand on my leg the moment I'd gotten my seatbelt buckled, and already it was driving me crazy.

"I thought we could sit. Relax. Maybe change into something more comfortable."

I laughed again. "You just want to get me in my underwear."

"Temporarily," he nodded, his hand huge on my thigh. It rested right where my thigh-highs ended, and I wondered whether he could feel the lace through the dress.

"I'm not thinking I want to get it on in your backseat," I mused, covering his hand with mine.

He shook his head in mock disgust. "Who said anything about getting it on? I'm a gentleman. I almost never put out on the first date."

"No. You just fuck dudes on webcams, then seduce their innocent, virginal co-stars."

"Elliot and I didn't fuck much," he protested, "mostly mouth stuff."

I smacked his shoulder. "That? That's your problem with my statement?"

"Well, yeah, I guess there is also that tiny little quibble I might have with you describing yourself as either 'innocent' or 'virginal.' Seems to me those might be slightly misleading."

"No comment." He nodded knowingly. "Like, you don't have an apartment or something?"

"I do, but so do the three other hockey players I share it with."

"Ooh." I gave him a broad wink. "There's a webcam experience simply waiting to be filmed. I've never done a bukkake before. Or a gangbang."

"And you won't do one tonight, either." He was not jealous about it. He was just stating a fact. And it all rolled into everything else he had done to me this evening: I was his. No one else's. And I found that alarmingly sexy. I thought about simply going down on him right here and now. Because I don't think I'd ever wanted a man so badly in my life.

"Got other ideas for me?" Getting the words out normally felt like squeezing out the last of the ketchup.

"I was thinking we could go to the library and discuss your poetry."

"Okay," I agreed at once. And I meant it.

"Or. Your roommate is still out, probably?"

"Jenn?" I laughed, warm with the glow of two cocktails as he drove us down the beach. "She's basically a live-in sex toy for one of her professors. I see her about once a week, if that." I glanced over at him and burped. "Why?"

"Hanging out in a dorm room is so cliche," he sighed, "almost tawdry."

"And you're a gentleman. You never put out on the first date."

"Yeah, might have been stretching the truth about that." We chuckled, but he was already steering toward campus, and it was decided just that easily. I held his hand, strong and warm under mine, my knee bouncing crazily as we drew closer and closer to my dorm. Well, to my bed: let's be honest. That's what we were both thinking about.

I let him in through the security door and past the eyes of the Resident Assistant, hooded and suspicious; I'd long suspected that particular RA had a crush on me, and there was a better-than-average chance he'd seen Nude Mood. Not that I cared all that much, the two of his waiting with our fingers interlaced as the elevator wheezed through its shaft.

He pulled me into the 'vator, not stopping until his solid body reached the back wall and leaned there like some kind of monument, not stopping even then: he kept pulling me into his body until I fetched up against him, pressing close with his arms settling calmly around me. I'd seldom felt so secure, so owned. "Hi there," I whispered up at him, smiling with unusual shyness.

"Hello." His face was already dipping down toward mine as we passed the second floor, his lips waiting for me as I craned my head back, grinning, my mouth meeting his with that full, generous sense of surrender I was so happy to give to him. I moaned low into his mouth at this, our first real kiss, even his hand on my ass feeling new even though he'd smacked me there already.

Because that had been at work. That had been Bubbles. This was Christa.

I offered my tongue willingly, wanting him to suck it between his lips, then shuddering against him when he did. He tasted like whiskey and orange, like capers, like himself. I felt my foot leave the cheap linoleum floor of the elevator and crawl up his calf, desperate to open my legs for him. To give him my body.

Ruined, that thong. Absolutely ruined.

His hand was sure as it slid down the back of my dress, cupping my ass with the same hunger I felt for him, leaving me moaning my need into his mouth as the elevator dinged its way up to the fourth floor. I slipped back out of his mouth and smiled up at him. "Let's go to my place."

"Deal." I walked proudly out into the lounge outside the elevator bank, every step a gloat as the girls there studied Tyler and noted his hand in mine. His hip pressed to me. My spit on his chin. We passed into my hallway, smiling, and I imagined the smell of wet pussy surrounding me like a cloud.

His mouth was back on me even before I even got my door opened, lips grazing my neck and ear as he loomed behind me. "Fuck," I muttered, screwing up the door combo. "You make it hard to focus."

"You just make it hard." It was a whisper, but the feel of his dick through his pants as he nudged it against my back left me in no doubt that he wasn't simply flirting. The guy felt like he was already more than halfway up, and I whimpered as I gave the door code another teeth-gritted try. "You got this." I felt hands on my waist, his pinkies stroking gently on my hips.

"Yeah, maybe." I punched the last digit, feeling my heart lurch triumphantly as the lock kicked and the door swung open. I stumbled into my room, whirling to see him boot the door closed behind him. "Gimme," I mewed, my fingers flexing at his belt; they were shaking so hard I could barely figure out the buckle. I could feel my breath already beginning to speed up, his hands returning to my hips as though magnetized before he brought them swiftly up to grip hard at my tits. "Jesus!" I yelped.

"Just inspecting. To make sure the seatbelt didn't fuck anything up."

"If you rip this dress, Ty, I swear to god..." I began, but by that time I'd gotten his pants open, my greedy hands worming down to grip his meat, and I wasn't able to speak after that. Instead, I fell to my knees on my own grotty carpet and swept my hands down his thighs, dragging his jeans along with them.

It jutted out before me, already thick but getting rapidly harder, his shirt draped over it. I'd had this dick in many ways the other night in the studio, but that had been porn-trope stuff: reverse cowgirl, doggy, the stuff that looked good on camera. It had felt amazing and he'd left me thoroughly satisfied, but there'd been no soul, no feeling, no real connection. Now? Connection was all I felt, my hands trailing back up to worship his skin, my smile proud where it hovered just a hair's breadth from his velvet head. "My god," I managed, my voice hushed, inhaling the scent of his body.

I doubted I'd ever been so soaked.

Tyler worked his shirt buttons above me, his fingers as certain as they'd been on my butt in the elevator, while I watched in rapture as he hardened for me. The man had an amazing penis, thick and meaty, nicely veined and with a lovely big swell behind the head. His balls hung as low as they had the other night, once again begging for my touch. I fluttered my eyelids and reminded myself this was real. He was here.

So I laid my hands gently on the front of his hips, feeling the stir in his warm body, and stared up at his eyes as his shirt at last fell away. "You're so beautiful," I whispered. We waited a harsh, dragging minute before, slowly, I leaned in and with awe, even reverence, matched my eager mouth to his strongly throbbing cock and, eyes directly on his, laid a powerful sucking kiss to his head, my lips molding themselves to that soft velvet flesh just above the bell where his head flared.

I'd tasted him the other night, but this was different. This time, I was paying attention. I waited there, breathing in slowly, inhaling him while my tongue spread along his tip, savoring what I found there. His eyes glittered when he looked down at me, pushing slightly, my lips widening just a bit more to take him deeper...

But no. That was for just a bit later. I slid off him, my fingers drifting slowly off his hairy legs, rising straight-backed to my feet and facing him for a few silent seconds before I turned. "Unzip me please, Tyler."

I was gorgeous. Desirable. I wanted him to unwrap me. He dropped the zipper with a clean, decisive swipe of his hand, leaving me to bend at the knees to gather my dress, unpeeling it upward with long, practiced strokes, revealing legs, then ass, then back, then neck. I tossed it loosely onto Jenn's desk and let my arms relax to my sides, breathing deeply. Behind me I could hear him stomping on his own heels, struggling out of his ostrich boots, so I stood there leaking into my thong and waited for him.

We had all night.

Once I heard him get one boot off, I pushed my thong contemptuously down my legs, letting it slap onto the carpet. Then I bent slowly at the waist, letting him study my naked ass, reveling in the effect I knew I had on that long, virile dick of his. Letting him see my pussy lips framed by my thighs, and remember how I felt around him. Letting him think about how much better it would be, facing me. Kissing me. Cumming in me.

Because we both knew I'd let him.

I lifted the sodden thong off the carpet, then turned with a wicked smile and lifted the wrecked thing to present it to him. His adam's apple bobbed once, then twice as he got the other boot off, so I let my smile morph into a smirk and draped my destroyed underwear over his stiff dick, a sacrifice laid over an altar, before kinking my arms and unhooking my bra. It fell to the floor as I turned, in nothing but my thigh-highs, and sashayed the short distance to my bed.

Not Jenn's. We were going to stain the sheets, and I wanted to sleep in this man's leavings. Needed it.

I sat at the edge of my bed and watched him approach, sitting in that classic debutante pose with my back straight and my hands resting on legs locked together. His eyes told me he liked that, juxtaposed with bare breasts, thigh-highs and the pussy he knew would be leaking onto my sheets. I thought about how I must look, my brain racing, making words. Images.