Thick

Hi everyone. This is my first submission. I hope you enjoy reading it. I am absolutely interested in feedback and constructive criticism. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Tvail

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Thick, velvet humidity cloaks my skin as soon as I open the cab door. Gaining the entrance to the small Italian restaurant is an exercise in hydro-resistance training, adding a slight fatigue to my already addled emotions. My knees are wobbly. I stumble in my stiletto lace-up boots and reach a trembling hand to the door knob for balance. A series of deep breaths, instead of calming my nerves, only intensifies them. Each inhalation pushes my breasts against the confines of the red corset and reminds my nipples of torments and pleasures past. Just thinking about our times together stiffens them into hard buds and sends waves of heat crashing to my clitoris.

It has been two years since we've seen one another and the space between us is dense with recriminations, half spoken apologies, and promise. When you left I decided that hibernation was better than awkward questions from well-meaning friends and the dry desolation that my daily life had become. Of course, that had led to too many shots of tequila that took me from numbness to stupor to oblivion.

And that's where friends come in. Bea letting me sit at her bar, well after closing time, until she could take me home so I wasn't obviously stumbling through Adam's Morgan's crush of last call drunks; Jeanie calling, out of the blue to "fill me in on her latest conquest" just so I wouldn't drown in my own misery; my mom suddenly deciding three weeks in a row that we deserved Chesapeake Bay crabs and champagne; Khori taking charge of the rest of the staff at the bookstore, plotting schedules, sorting bills and telling me to "Sign here," in his soft voice.

I almost lost everything then. I couldn't see life without you. You had shown me so much of myself. I felt like I didn't know who I was without you there to guide me along to my next step. I had grown so much in your care. Did I owe my current success to your painstaking tutelage?

I look over my outfit one more time. Red corset, mid-calf, black-layered skirt with red piping, black fishnet stockings with garter, and of course, the boots. I've piled my dreadlocks into a bun which drapes at the back of my neck with two wavy tendrils framing my face. Wild West harlot meets Rasta/Goth chick. My make-up is nonexistent as always, just shiny, wet, fuck-me-red lip gloss to help you remember what you like to do to my mouth.

One more tingling deep breath and I've opened the door and stepped a pointed toe into the dim interior. The maitre'd is in front of me before my eyes can adjust leading me to your favorite table in the rear. Votive candles everywhere lend an impermanent dreaminess to the intimate cabaret noire atmosphere, and I can feel the wet heat of you all around me, getting thicker and more enveloping the closer I get. And then you are in front of me.

I stand a little away from you so I can take you in. There's more gray in your hair; it's buzzed short as usual; more laugh lines around your eyes. You still stand like Bruce Lee, riding the knife's edge between easiness and barely restrained alertness, untamed and predatory yet pliable and soft in the face of that which enchants you. I'm having difficulty finding my breath and then you smile. Now that's the big, bad wolf I remember.

"My, what big teeth you have," I whisper, smiling back at you as I glide into the booth you've gestured to.

"The better to eat you with, my dear," you whisper just as softly. Oh, I miss that voice. I almost cum just hearing those words but I can't let you know how bad it is. I have to be stronger than that. I know about biding my time and I know how you dislike weakness. I take a sip of water with a shaky hand and look down at the table.

"You look beautiful," you continue. I still can't look at you. The silverware is heavy and old. The candle flame sends sparkles over the crystal glasses and dancing light through the deep red wine. My napkin is becoming a wrinkled mess in my clenching hands.

Gently, firmly you cusp my chin in your hand and turn me to face you. I still can't meet your gaze and my voice has gotten stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. I gulp and finally raise my eyes to yours.

I should never have returned your call. Two years ago you left me to fend for myself and I did. I don't want you, anymore. Truly.

"I'm sorry, Red," you whisper. I'm crying, I realize, as your thumb wipes the tear from my cheek. How do I let you do this to me? You lift a wine glass to my lips and I sip. "I got a new job, but...I left them...I need to be where you are, Red, my little Red." I hear the catch in your voice and I think I see moisture in your eyes through my blurred vision.

I don't want you, anymore, I think, but I can't keep my hands off you. You're so close. I run a finger along the seam of your black leather pants and I gasp as a torrent of sensory memories pour into me. Hard concrete bruising my knee caps as I kneel before you in the parking garage while you fuck my mouth; the sting as you release the clamps from my elongated, sore nipples; the sweaty, sticky heat of my belly draped across these very same pants while you spank my cheeks red as Georgia clay.

Your steely gray eyes bore into mine and I know you think you've won. "Will you take me back, Red? Do you still want to be mine?" Mine. What does that mean to you? I thought I was yours before and then...nothing. Semi-existence. Survival. You shaped me; you made me. And then, you just weren't there. You didn't even call after you'd settled in to let me know that you were alive. There was no life-line, anymore, no balance of depravity and adoration to offset the soul-numbing strictures of my daily life.

Mine. I almost gave up everything to be yours once before; my career, my friends, my family. And two years later, I know I'm lost without them. But I'm lost without you, too.

You're still holding my chin and when I nod you release it. "Show me you still want me, Red. Touch me." The command is given in that hard edged silken tone I remember so well. It's my trigger and it shoots sparks into my gut and down through my clitoris.

I look around the restaurant gauging our level of privacy although I know from previous encounters why this booth is your favorite. As you give our order to the waiter, I am quietly, slowly, unbuttoning your pants, lowering the zipper. A sigh escapes my lips as I caress the soft skin of your rapidly stiffening cock. Why have I had to wait two years to feel this again? I could have moved to Colorado with you. Oh yeah, and given up everything.

Behind the veil of the table cloth I begin to slowly massage you, just the way you always liked it. I squeeze and feel you throb in my palm. "Yes," you sigh into my ear. There's a small drop of pre-come forming which I smear over the head of your cock and I know that I'm not the only one who's been missing this.

I take another sip of wine with my free hand and look into your eyes. We smile. All I can think of at this moment is pleasing you. I don't want you to leave again. I'm so grateful that you came back. I am rewarded when your eyes glaze over a little as I start to twist my hand while stroking you up to the ridge of the head and down again.

I continue to stroke you in that same excruciatingly slow way through the small talk of the new job and the new house. You have more self-control than any man I've ever known. I look to you for the cues when you want me to increase the pace but after the appetizers have been cleared, you place your hand over mine and stop my motion. I shoot a questioning look your way. "It's your turn, baby. Do you want to come?"

As if a dampening field has been lifted, the sounds of the busy restaurant seep back into my consciousness. I look around, again, noting the various diners, some alone but most in intimate pairings. I am suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. I return my hand to the table top attempting nonchalance. This is your greatest trick -- to make me feel this schoolgirl nervousness at my age. Shyness steals over me but my cunt is on fire. A light sheen of sweat covers my skin. The possibility of being observed in such sluttish fashion in this proper place makes me squirm. Yes, you know how to play me.

Our waiter has returned with the entrees while my cheeks burnish copper red. "Just sit back and enjoy your meal," you instruct but your lighthearted tone is belied by the intensity of your gaze. I'm only one mouthful into the delicious butter sauced shrimp pasta when I feel your fingers lightly pulling my skirt up my legs. Cool air washes over my crotch as I spread them for you. You smile when your fingers discover my naked, shaved mons. I've remembered what you like and your reaction makes me proud and wet.

I twirl some pasta and shrimp on the fork and feed it to you eliciting low moans from both of us as you choose that time to press on my clit rubbing your finger in circles over it. Already, my hips are moving with a mind of their own, trying to feel as much of your touch as possible. I can barely make my hands stop shaking long enough to feed myself the next bite.

"Do you like it?" You nod towards the food but your tone tells me that's not what you are asking about. I don't want to answer. I don't trust my voice. You grasp my whole pussy pulling me down closer to the edge of the seat and then you slam a finger into me. I gasp louder than I intend which makes you laugh. I notice a few heads turn toward our table. I'm mortified and hot. You slowly ram your finger deep into me before gliding almost all the way back out and ramming it in again. "Answer me."

"Yes." It's all I can manage. I'm trying not to be too obvious about the gyrations my hips are making under the table, trying very hard to look like a normal lover at a romantic dinner.

"Yes what?"

"Ye-yes, Sir."

"Good girl. Did you miss this, Red?" you purr while inserting another finger into my now sopping hole.

"Mmm."

You laugh, again. "I missed you, too. I thought about your hot little pussy every day. I still remember how tight you are and how you taste." You suddenly pull your fingers out of me. I groan in frustration and pout until you feed a piece of bread to me with those very same fingers. Eyes closed, I lick my juices from you not caring who sees me. I'm lost, again. "That's good, baby. Show me how you want me to lick your sweet pussy."

I love it when you talk like that to me and like a good, obedient girl I swirl my tongue between the cleft of your fingers, flicking it towards the tips imagining you ravaging my hardened clit. Then I swoop it down, stiffening it and thrust it in between your fingers like I can't wait for you to do to me.

My breath is ragged when you withdraw your fingers from my mouth. My nipples ache and my chest heaves toward you, straining for your touch on them. Before I realize it, you've plunged back into me thrusting harder and faster than before. Above the table, all is calm as I feed you another bite of pasta. Below, I can feel my orgasm roiling and churning. You can feel my muscles clenching and you know I'm going to erupt soon. Your face is close enough to mine for me to suck in each of your husky breaths. Your eyes never stray from mine. You're just as hungry for it as I am. Your thumb pushes forcefully over my clit and I almost lose it then, my eyes rolling back and my fingers grasping the booth so hard I know I'm leaving marks in the fine leather, but I wait. Yes, after two years I know all about waiting. Your smile tells me you are pleased.

"Now." You flick my clit and thrust deeply into me once more and the wave breaks over me. The power of the isolated sensations in my cunt makes me swoon. You lean into me further to help prop me up and I rest my head on your shoulder while my insides continue to super nova. We rest like that for a few more moments while my breath calms and vision returns.

I draw back from you only far enough to be able to reach your lips and kiss you. "Thank you, Wolfe." It comes out in a gruff rasp. You smile and gently tuck an escaped dreadlock behind my ear.

Dessert and coffee come too quickly. Neither of us is willing to let the other go. I let you take my hand and steer me towards the Calvert Street Bridge. We walk slowly. The extreme humidity of the night creates waves of rolling fog that dampen our skin and the glow cast from the ornate iron lights that line the bridge is muted. My hand feels sticky in yours.

Despite the intimacy of our dinner I maintain a foot of distance between us. It's not just the mugginess of the night that slows my step at the entrance to the great bridge. I look at you, so assured of yourself. I used to find this comforting but yours is the confidence of the predator at the top of the food chain, a regal, graceful beast. One should not attempt to domesticate wild animals as it usually ends in pain. Wild animals don't care about you or what you want. Only, always, they respond to their own needs.

I should have remembered that, two years ago, when you just knew I would follow you to the cold, snowy mountains of Colorado. I hate snow and I hate cold weather. And I almost went. Not once did you even ask me if moving was what I wanted. It was, "Baby, we have a great new opportunity. You'll love Colorado. Tons of artists live there. You'll be right at home. You'll see."

Well, finally I did see. That you could never love me the way I needed. That when you asked me if I would be yours you actually meant, "Will you give up your life and everything that you care about to make me happy and be my slut?" And here I am, again, the hypnotized prey, ready to follow you into the misty night.

I find I have stopped at the gateway to the bridge. You look at me quizzically. "Baby, are you O.K.? Do you want to go someplace else?"

I blink, roused from my meditations by your voice. I stare. Those are not normal questions for you. Your eyes are dark orbs of concern. You return the few steps to me and wrap your arms around me, leaning my head against your chest. "Red," you start hesitantly, "I know I wasn't good to you." I push against you to free myself. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be close to you again, to listen to anything you have to say.

I feel like wailing. How can I love someone like you? How is it that the past two hours have been the most exhilarating of the past two years? How do I know you won't hurt me again?

"I can't do this, Wolfe," I grit through my teeth. My fists are balled and I feel like I want to hit you. For the first time in my life I'm literally seeing red. I have to move; I can't just stand here at the corner in some invisible cage of frustration. I turn away from you in a dramatic swirl of skirt and stomp all the way to a curved niche in the middle of the bridge and pace like an angry great cat, tail swishing back and forth, within its confines.

"Red," I hear you call from the street corner. I can't answer you because two years worth of tears are pouring down my face and choking me. I don't want to answer you. A moment later I feel you come up behind me. You place your hands on my shoulders and turn me away from the rail to face you. I wish I didn't want to fall into your arms so badly. "Red, I'm so sorry. I know I was wrong, before." Damn. There you go again. You were always able to read my mind, most of the time. "It's just," you sigh and run your hands over your hair, "I wanted to have everything set up for you. I wanted everything to be perfect so you wouldn't have to worry about anything. I didn't think about...I just didn't think." You hug me to you. I let you.

We stand like that, you rubbing my head, me crying on your chest, for what seems like hours but is probably only a few minutes, until I pull away from you and turn around to lean on the rail. You join me, hugging me from behind and resting your chin on my shoulder. I find myself grateful for your closeness again. There are few others out walking in the soupy night but cars continually buzz past. We are quiet watching the foggy wraiths curl over the forest beneath us.

My breathing has returned to normal and the tears have long since stopped. I feel you are still aroused and I can't resist wriggling my ass over your erection. "Minx," you tease softly but you push back slightly spreading my cheeks under my skirt. You know the feel of your cock along the crack of my ass drives me wild and I can't help but grind into you more because it's been so long.

I feel your lips on my neck and your fingers making their way to the front of the corset. I lean my head back, endorphins and wine making my thoughts blur and race, elongating my neck, giving your tongue and teeth room to play. Their combined pressure shoots deep ripples of pleasure to my nipples. Your hands are so close, but there's too much cloth in the way. As if reading my mind, you deftly loosen the restraining laces of the corset enough to be able to scoop my breasts out over the top. Your touch on them is like a homecoming and a first kiss all at once that makes me gasp. Even though the night is warm, the fresh air is enough of a contrast with my body heat to raise goose bumps on my skin and my nipples into tight, hard peaks.

"I love you like this," you say into my neck. The blare of a car horn momentarily jerks me back into the real world but the hard pinch you deliver to my nipple drags me back into the mist. Two years of missing this voice, this touch, has me stimulated beyond control.

Your touch in my hair loosens the bun and dreadlocks spill over my shoulders and curtain my face. You wrap your fingers in them and pull my head back, arching my spine. My petite breasts thrust toward the sky, rocket nipples ready to take off. Shifting your weight, you lean around the side of me and take one nipple into your mouth moaning at the first taste. The liquid pressure of your tongue melts me. I sag into you. Then a series of wet little flicks has me moaning and grinding on your cock again.

I reach behind me. I want to feel you but you grab my wrist and twist my arm behind my back. "Now you know better, Red." I grind my teeth in frustration when your mouth leaves my breast. You chuckle. You've got me right where you want me. "Since I can hardly give you a fitting punishment in this environment I'll have to see what else I can come up with." You release your grip in my hair and I let my head flop forward, resigned to the delay of my satisfaction.

You reach down between us and lift my skirt. I feel you sigh as you caress my ass. I wriggle a little more. Two can play a teasing game. The skirt is long enough to drape over my legs even though when you take one small step backwards to reorient yourself my ass is open to the night air. "Beautiful, baby," you sigh running a hand over each cheek.

My pussy is dripping wet, again, a fact you discover when you roughly and without preamble shove three fingers into it. Your body is draped over mine and we move together in a tight undulation with each of your thrusts. I am having difficulty keeping my moaning down to an acceptable volume and this makes you harder. You release my arm knowing I will not cause any more problems and reach in front to roll my nipple roughly between your fingers. I start to tremble and you remove your fingers from inside me.

"Pl-Please," I stammer.

"Please what?" Your glistening fingers are in my mouth and I lick every drop of my juices off them. My pussy feels so empty. I thrust back into your crotch as if the heat emanating from it can disintegrate the layers of clothes separating us.

"Please what, slut?"

"Please fuck me."

"Louder." I feel you behind me unbuttoning and unzipping. Then I feel your hard, smooth cock in the cleft of my ass. You spank me with it. "Louder."