The Man in the Smiling Mask

"Oh, my God, Wally!" she cried, "I pulled some of your hair out!" It was just a few strands, but it must have hurt him horribly! "Let me see!" she urged, pulling him upward so she could look at the top of his head. "Are you bleeding?"

That grin made her insides melt. "I'm just fine. Let me get up and ..." He made a move to get out of bed.

"No!" she stated flatly. She reached her hand down and used her fingers to surround the shaft of his cock. What an amazing organ! So soft on the outside; so long and hard and soft, all at the same time! And this was it. This was the thing her mother had told her about. A man only thought about his cock, she had explained, and he only wanted to put it one place. But Mama's warnings were now forcefully forgotten. Wally had been so patient with her. He had been so nice, so understanding, so enduring and easygoing. If ever there was a man who deserved to put a cock into her one place, then he was the guy. She spread her legs and pulled it toward the target.

"Canna," he whispered urgently, resisting slightly. But she reached up with her free hand and pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply. She hadn't expected the taste. She'd experienced it only once, late one night when she'd been lying in bed after giving herself pleasure, basking in afterglow, and she'd gotten curious about it. She'd stuck the fingers that she'd used into her mouth. This was it. This was that taste, only now it was on his tongue.

The tip of the cock was against her vulva now, spreading her lower lips and stretching her open. It would start hurting soon, she thought, but she welcomed the pain, if it meant pleasure for him. She had to return to him at least a small amount of the ecstasy he had just given her! She had to!

It was in! Or, at least a part of it was. And it hadn't hurt at all! In fact, it felt good. Very good. It seemed to slide right into her, moving through her tight channel so easily! It was like a machine part that appeared large enough to get stuck; but despite its large size, it was so well lubricated that it moved effortlessly. This was obviously something that had been specially engineered to fit, and it stuffed and filled her to complete capacity, just like it was designed to do.

She found that she'd let go of his cock, and that made sense, since it was now completely inside her. Her hands had moved up on his shoulders, but she slid them higher still and encircled his neck with her arms, her fingers once again in his hair, vowing silently to be more careful this time. She took a deep breath, which ballooned her breasts against his hairy chest. Slowly, he withdrew a little and pushed back into her depths.

"Our ... our social distancing level is now at minus six inches," she panted, burying her face into his strong shoulder. He thrust again. "OH!" she moaned. "Make that seven inches." Another thrust. "Oh, God! Maybe eight or nine!"

He growled like a taunted tiger, then took a ragged breath. "In your mind, I'm going to be a foot-and-a-half before you know it!" He rammed into her again.

"So deep! Oh, Wally, I think you're about to push out my navel from the inside! You're SO deep!"

He started withdrawing. Startled, she brought her legs up and hooked her heels around the backs of his thighs. "Don't!" she groaned loudly. "Don't go!"

"Canna!" he bellowed through gritted teeth. "I'm about to ... You have to let me ..."

"Don't go!" she repeated, and used all the strength she possessed in her lower body to pull him back in.

"Arrgh!" And with his most violent thrust so far, he mashed his entire body against her, held absolutely still for a long two seconds, and he began to shake. His prick swelled impossibly large, then started twitching. She'd never felt anything like it, and she found herself clenching her inner muscles in an attempt to hold it as it throbbed against her cervix. His pubic bone was grinding against her clit, which was still insanely sensitive, and that sent small spasms rocketing through her lower body.

He remained heavily on top of her for thirty long seconds, and she felt good under his weight, weak and rubbery, her legs falling back to the bed, her arms plopping limp at her sides. But when he rolled off of her, onto his back, she followed. Straddling his hips, she lay atop him, pressing her breasts into the top of his stomach; then she put her hands, one on the other, at the base of his chest, and she propped her chin on the backs of them, so she could look up at his face. He pulled a pillow under his head and returned her gaze.

"Want to do it again?" she asked brightly.

That brought the laugh she'd been looking for. "You little minx! You've drained me of my precious bodily fluids!"

She sighed heavily. "I guess, now that you've used me, you're just going to discard me."

"You and your precious box of Ramen, too." He tried to sound like the Wicked Witch of the West.

She frowned sadly. "If you do that, you will shatter my fragile naiveté."

He appeared to think about that one. "Is that very messy?"

She gave him a solemn nod, and brought a thumb and finger together to indicate something small. "Little tiny slivers that just get everywhere."

"Hmm. I guess I'll keep you then, and make you my sex slave."

"The sex sounds good, but as you might guess, I'm sensitive about the 'slave' part."

He nodded, deep in thought. "Okay, then. You WON'T be a slave, but I'll keep you permanently at my beck and call, and ravish you twice a day."

"I can live with that." She sighed deeply. "Oh, Wally. Ours is a forbidden love!" And with that, he lost it, and started laughing. So, since he was unable to deliver the next line, she continued. "I can't remember. Am I the Montague or the Capulet?"

He stifled his laughter. "Oh, you're the Capulet."

"Come to think of it, wasn't I the Capulet last time?"

Having had enough, he pulled her body higher, leaned forward, and he kissed her. This was comfortable. This was perfect. The sex hadn't hurt at all! In fact, everything had been wonderful! Her whole body felt like it was glowing, except for her pussy, which was a little itchy as his cum trickled out of her.

She pulled back in shock. "Oh!" Why was it only dawning on her now? "Oh, gosh! You came inside me!"

He gave her a patient look. "I tried to get a rubber before we got started, but you were pretty insistent. And then when I tried to pull out, you locked me in some kind of judo hold and made it absolutely impossible!"

"It's not your fault!" she insisted. "It's mine! A girl only has one job in a relationship, and that's to be safe! Oh, God, what have I done?"

He pulled her to the side, and she wound up nestled into his chest, with his arm around her. "You haven't done anything, little darling," he said quietly. "WE did something, and it was pretty great."

She struggled to prop herself up so that she could plead her case more forcefully, but he wasn't letting her go. Sighing, she snuggled into him and began tracing little patterns in his chest hair with her fingernail. "No," she insisted calmly. "It's me. It's all me. If anyone hears about this, I'm going to be looked upon as the skank from the wrong side of the tracks that's trying to get her talons into some rich guy."

"I'm just some rich guy now?"

She kept moving her fingertip. "Okay, I've got to admit. As average rich guys go, you rank pretty high. But you see my point, don't you? Loving you, being with you ... it just looks like one big ulterior motive. People are going to hate me!" She sighed heavily. "Oh, don't get me wrong. Every person of color in America lives with that a little. I'm used to being looked down upon, to some degree. But this is going to be real hate. I don't think I could take that."

He gave her that smile again, and reached down and tapped her once on the tip of her nose. "You don't get it, do you?" When the only answer she could muster was a muddled look, he went on. "Don't you realize that it's me taking advantage of you? Do you really, truly have no idea how valuable a commodity you are?"

"You think of me as a commodity?"

He unwrapped his arm from her body and scooted down, facing her. Their noses weren't quite touching. "Oh, no. I think of you as the woman I've fallen in love with. But that's not the way I thought when I first met you. You were something else then. You were the person I'd been looking for, professionally, for a long, long time."

"You ... You thought I was a 'professional' girl?" But now he was laughing. His lips, when he laughed, were even better than they were when he smiled. She was immensely confused.

He continued. "I want to tell you this. I want to tell you EVERYTHING! I want to confide in you, the way lovers do. I want to reveal all my secrets until there are no more left. I want you so much I ache! But this ... if I tell you this, I'm desperately afraid I'll lose you."

Unable to help herself, she reached up and stroked the side of his face. "There's no way you're going to lose me now, big guy. Tell me!"

"My field of study, the field I teach, is Political Psychology. Ever heard of it?"

She thought a moment. "Sounds suspiciously like Marketing to me."

He graced her with a look of wonder. "You are one smart little girl. Yes, very similar, only it involves selling people instead of products; and why some people sell better than others. It's about using logic ... and abusing logic ... to suit your purpose. As politics becomes more fractured and polarizing, the subject has turned into a huge draw for students, not to mention industries, lobbies, PACs, social media ... well, just everybody. The way to succeed in almost everything nowadays is to make other people accept a political agenda."

"I don't understand. I mean, I see what you're talking about, but what does it have to do with ..."

"Would it be completely unfathomable to think that the first thing I noticed when I met you was your mind? Well, I have to confess that it helped that your mind was attached to a great set of boobs. But you have something that SO few people possess. It's a little tiny word that describes something that is incredibly rare; something that everyone wants, but can't have for themselves. You can't buy it, you can't learn it, you can't take possession of it, no matter how much you want it. You either have it, or you don't."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's wit, Canna. You have an incredibly sharp wit. You think quickly and accurately, and you speak intelligibly. When you joke, it's funny. When you comment, its germane."

She shrugged. "Um ... thanks, I guess?" She still didn't see what he was talking about.

"I have a few plans. We need to work on this together." He thought for a moment. "No, that's not entirely accurate. You will do all the work while I just sit back and have fun. That's pretty much a fifty-fifty split, don't you think?"

That brought a smile to her lips. "I think you're speaking in tongues. What 'plans' do you have for me?"

"How much education do you have?"

"I have an associate's degree!" she said proudly.

"Great! Okay, here's the deal. I'll give you seventeen years to get a doctorate, figure out what political topics you're most passionate about, and have my kids."

She laughed aloud. "A doctorate in what?"

"Oh, I would never deign to suggest that. In whatever you want. It's your decision entirely."

She grinned. "How many kids?"

"Not less than three. Not more than four."

She laughed again. "Boys or girls? Our three point five kids, I mean."

He looked annoyed. "Don't be ridiculous. How could I possibly know that?"

"And last but not least, why seventeen years?"

"That's when the election cycle is due. Plus, you would be the ideal age. So would our kids."

"Election cycle for WHAT?"

"Mayor, of course. New Orleans is the perfect size city in the perfect south-central locale. Plus, the cycles align exactly. In six more years, you'll be in the governor's seat."

Before she could comment further, a "ding" sounded from somewhere far away. "Dinner!" he exclaimed, clapping and rubbing his hands. He rolled out of bed enthusiastically, pulling her after him. "I'm famished!"

She stood in utter shock as he pulled the smoking jacket up her arms and knotted the belt around her waist; then he went to a closet and pulled out another bathrobe. How many of those things did he own? Finished, he turned and strode from the room, and she found herself stumbling after him.

She was finally able to form works. "Politics? What if I'm terrified of speaking in front of crowds? Which, by the way, happens to be the truth!"

"Hypnosis," he said in an easy tone over his shoulder as he started down the stairs. She hurried after him.

He stopped on a lower stair, turned, and mounted the steps back, pausing on the one just below her. Their faces were even, and he pulled her into his arms. "You are so amazingly susceptible to hypnotic trance that, with a little concerted effort on both of our parts, I should soon be able to put you under in just a few seconds ... with just a few words. If you wanted to feel comfortable in front of crowds, I could help you do that. In fact, if you wanted to feel really GOOD in front of crowds, I could help you make that happen, too." She didn't stop him as he leaned forward and kissed her. When he finally broke the contact, he leaned back only far enough to study her eyes intently. "You want it now, don't you? The feel of the trance. I've never seen that before."

He took her hand and she followed meekly as he continued downstairs. It was true. That ache, that need, was there. The thought of listening to his voice and slipping into some sort of induced sleep was a deep-set yearning that was constantly present somewhere in her soul. He led her to one of the kitchen barstools, and she dutifully sat, lost in her swirling thoughts.

"YOU have wit," she thought out loud. "YOU are sharp and intelligent. If you want the governor's mansion so badly, why don't you just ..."

"Wrong sex, wrong color, wrong socioeconomic origins. People are sick of white men from rich families."

"We certainly keep electing them," she countered.

"Not in seventeen years, we won't. Just wait and see. The movement is happening now! And, it's going to be permanent. Your face, your voice, your intellect; everything about you is perfect. And your eyes, Canna! No one will be able to resist your eyes!" He shrugged. "And if I'm wrong, instead of moving to Washington, we'll just settle down and try to make another three point five babies."

"Washington!?"

"You don't think the governorship is our final goal, do you?" He took a steaming baking dish out of the oven and put it on the stovetop. The room filled with the aroma of hot beef, onions and garlic.

"Our goal," she muttered quietly.

He walked to her, close. She automatically spread her knees apart so he could get even closer, and he pulled her to him, her breasts mashing against his chest. She raised her face for a kiss, but he only wanted to look into her eyes to emphasize his words.

"And that leads us to tonight's two most important questions," he said softly. "First, will you believe me when I tell you this? None of that matters to me; not as much as you. I will do anything. Anything to win you. I love you, and that's the most important thing. If you want me to make these things happen, I will. If you want me to never mention the idea again, I won't. Will you believe that?"

She regarded him seriously for a moment. "And your second question?"

"Are you in love with me, too?" He quickly held up a finger to stop her. "OR, are you simply psychologically infatuated with my touch? When was the last time you really, actually, physically touched another human being?"

She shrugged. "I guess it's been four months."

He stroked her cheek with his fingertips and she couldn't help leaning into it, savoring the feel. "Were you only starved for affection, for touches, for intimacy?"

She smiled and shook her head. "This day has been astonishing. I woke up wondering if I might be homeless and starving when it was over. Truly, the only thing I had to look forward to was talking to you on the bus. And it's ended up being some sort of convoluted Cinderella fairy tale!

"Yes," she continued after a sigh, "I trust you and I believe you and I love you. I love your touch, sure; but it's you I really love. It's all you. Your sperm is swimming the long-distance freestyle around inside me, and I don't seem to care. I loved all of the things you made me feel upstairs in bed. But, when I felt your cock start to twitch and jerk inside me, when I felt that and I knew I was giving you pleasure ... well, that was the best." She put her hand against her lower tummy, and her eyes became unfocused, a dreamy smile curved her lips. "That was the best," she repeated quietly.

She sighed heavily and her eyes regained that sparkle. "That's what I need. To please you. To feel what it's like when I give you pleasure. And you know that if you want things, if you have dreams, then I'd do anything to make them happen. You do know that, right?"

He grinned, gave her a peck of a kiss, and started to back away, but she clutched at him. "But Wally! This is New Orleans, which is not known for making vast inroads in the fields of diversity and inclusion. The race thing is real! It might not make a difference to you or to me, but what about your family?"

He had a sudden thought. "Is your dad living here?"

"I never met him," she said solemnly. "I don't know who he is. It was always just Mama and me. She never even had any lovers, that I knew of."

He nodded, kissed her again, and went back to the stove. "My mom is going to absolutely adore you!" he said. "I don't really give a shit WHAT my dad thinks. The only things he cares about are oil and gas futures. My sister is going to pester you mercilessly until you tell her that she's your best friend. And my two brothers are probably going to fall in lust with you; and, despite being married with kids, one of them might even make a pass at you. I'm going to have to watch them like a hawk."

"Big family," she commented. She'd just noticed a coffee cup on the counter that was full of pens and pencils. She plucked a marker out of it.

"Nice, average Catholic family," he corrected.

"I'm Baptist," she told him.

"Ours is a forbidden love." He shook his head forlornly as he mixed a cup of sour cream and a pan of noodles into the steaming casserole.

"Can I be the Montague?"

"Sorry," he told her, fetching a couple dinner plates. "You're the Capulet."

"No fair!" she grumbled. "Why do I always have to be the Capulet?"

He set the heaping plates down on the counter and sat next to her. "What the heck is THIS!?"

There had been a box of fifty disposable medical masks on the countertop, but the top ten were now spread across its surface. She had drawn a set of lips on all of them, and the left side of each curled slightly upward in a lopsided smile.

"Just something I've wanted to do for a while," she told him. "Let's hurry up and eat. There's something I need you to do to me back up in the bedroom."

The End