It's my first evening out since I moved out of the house. I haven't seen you or the dog in weeks, and though I am attending the wedding of a couple we both know, the bride has assured me that you had another engagement, and wouldn't be attending either the wedding or the reception. So I agreed to go, and I sat through the ceremony like a stone, my eyes downcast, not leaving the ring you gave me. I still haven't given it back.
It's a short ceremony, and the crowd soon travels to the reception hall in a long line of cars. I was going to skip the reception, but I promised the bride I would be there. She is worried about me, I think. I think everyone is worried about me, because though I willingly admit that you have left me, I refuse to take off your ring. I am doing so, I am sure they realize, because I am determined to force you to make contact in order to regain possession of the diamond. Even then, I wonder if I'll be able to take it off. I wonder if you'll have to remove it from my finger forcefully.
The reception is in a hotel ballroom. The decorations are beautiful, and judging from the sizable crowd already in attendance, I think you'll probably be one of the only invitees not in attendance. People are still arriving when I find my seat at the table, and my heart tightens in my chest when I realize that your name was mistakenly left on the seating arrangement. I am tempted to reach out and slip the place card with your name scrawled across it into my purse, so that I won't be confronted with your name all evening. I decide against this, because you'd be in my head regardless. One more reminder will hardly make a difference. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach is constant, and reminder enough of what I have lost.
I get up and walk to the bar, ordering myself a gin and tonic with extra lime. My dress, a floor length plum sheath with spaghetti straps and a matching scarf, feels strangely constricting, perhaps because I had to buy a strapless bra that was a band-size too tight. The tight fit does wonders for my cleavage, but that only reminds me of you, too. I take the drink back to the table and am about to sit down when I notice you at the table and, oddly enough, my first thought is that you've come to take the ring away.
I clench my fist reflexively as you turn your head and your eyes catch mine. I am literally frozen in place, my heart pounding in my chest as my hands start to tremble. You look incredible in a dark suit and a pale-blue shirt. I recognize the tie as one I bought for you, and I wonder if the fact that you are wearing something I picked out for you is of any significance, but then I wonder if maybe you thought I wouldn't be here, and I am suddenly embarrassed. What if we are being set up? What if you never wanted to see me again, and I am in for the most uncomfortable night of my adult life?
While my thoughts are racing in my head I almost don't notice your approach. When you step in front of me you give me one of the biggest, brightest, fakest smiles I've ever seen. You reach for my hand and bring it to your lips in greeting, but I realize you took my left hand and I snatch it away from you, fearful that this will be the moment you take back the ring. I think that, if this is so, then this is then end and I am most likely going to die of grief.
You give me a dark look when I snatch my hand away, and I realize you must think I pulled away because I couldn't stand the feel of your touch. The pit in my stomach grows and swells, until my entire body is filled with the nothingness.
"The bride and groom haven't made their entrance," you tell me through your teeth, "and every eye in the room is on us. We're the talk of the party. Please make an effort to behave like an adult, Maria."
I nod, but offer my cheek for a kiss, still protective of the ring on my hand. I know this is a mistake when your face nears mine and I am suddenly assaulted with the smell of you, the familiarity of the brush of your lips against my skin. I sway against you and, instinctively, your arms reach out to steady me. "Is that your first drink?" you ask teasingly, all the while knowing the effect your proximity has on me.
"Why don't you put the drink down on the table and we'll go for a short walk," you suggest, turning me toward the table and leading me gently with a hand on the small of my back. "Somewhere where we won't be the center of attention."
I leave my drink on the table and follow you out of the room, my small hand inside your larger one. As we exit, I wonder if we sparked any conversation, but the thought leaves my mind as we walk through the lavishly decorated hotel corridor and you lead me to the elevator. We get in and you push the button for the fourteenth floor, and I look at you curiously, suddenly wishing I had downed my drink before we left the reception room. You reach for my hand again, and give my small fingers a firm and reassuring squeeze,
We walk in silence to suite 1410, where you use a keycard to open the door and step back to allow for my entry. I step through the doorway and you follow, closing the door behind us. There are no lights on and in the dark I feel lost, and a little ill at ease...the same way I've felt for weeks now. When I feel your hands at my waist I am reassured, and I place my hands over yours and our fingers interlock.
"Joe, I—" I start as you step close to me, and I feel the muscular wall of your chest against my back. I close my eyes and breathe in your scent. "Joe-- wait, I—"
Your hands travel up my hips and I take in a sharp breath as I feel the warmth of your skin through the fabric of my dress. Your hands find my breasts, but the fabric of my strapless bra is firm enough that I'm certain you can't feel my nipples react to your touch. I think absentmindedly that I should protest, play hard to get—it's been so long since we've been together, I wonder if you only came to the reception, if you only rented a hotel room, to relieve a build up of sexual tension. The feel of your hands on my body makes me not care, though, and I groan and lean back into you. You turn my body in your arms until my forearms are pressed against the wall of your chest, my hands clinging to your shoulders as your mouth lowers and settles over mine.
Heat flares between us, an electric current surges through my body. I whimper and wrap my arms around your neck, loving the taste of you. Loving that all those times I remembered the taste of your mouth, I remembered you well. Our tongues wrestle as you begin to unpin my hair, letting it fall from the chignon at the back of my neck. You pull away, surprised, when it fails to cascade down my back and instead lands just below my shoulders.
"What happened to your hair?" you ask, burying your fingers in the thick brown strands, your face looking suddenly stricken. I lift my chin to look up with you.
"It's what girls do when we get dumped," I shrug, not really having a better answer. "We cut off our hair. I think it's symbolic of a new beginning, or something like that." I tug at the strands self-consciously, "It's not that short..."
I look up at you, my eyes big and brown and full of vulnerability, "Do you hate it?"
"No," you say, your mouth claiming mine again. "I just wasn't expecting it." You pull away again, this time separating our bodies. You backtrack to the door and flip a light switch, which illuminates the bedside lamp.
I raise an eyebrow at you as you move toward me and gather my body into your arms again. "I want to look at you tonight," you say simply, "I've missed looking at you."
Your hands travel up and down my back, running from my shoulders down to the curve of my hips and back up before you find the zipper of my dress and tug. The zipper slides down easily enough, and you push the spaghetti straps off of my pale shoulders and watch as the dress slides down my body, revealing a pink strapless bra and matching pink panties, as well as thigh-high stockings attached to a garter belt. You let out a low whistle and I blush a little, because we both know I am a romantic at heart, and we both know I when I got dressed this evening it was with you in mind. In the same moments that I knew you wouldn't come, I prayed that you would.
"You're beautiful," you whisper, slipping out of your dark jacket as I tackle the buttons on your shirt. You're reaching for the buckle on your belt as my fingers find your fly, and before I know what has happened we have tumbled backwards onto the bed, your shirt open but still on as you struggle to kick off your pants and shoes.
My own shoes, plum-colored sling-back high heels, are still on as well, but when you position yourself between my thighs your hands travel down the length of my thighs to rectify this oversight. You toss my shoes in the general direction of my dress as my own hands grope for your hardened shaft. I exhale sharply when my fingers make contact and I wrap first one, then two hands around your stiff cock. "Joe," I whisper, my entire body aching with need. Your hands find my panties, which you nearly rip as you remove them from my body. You have to stop to release the clasps on the garter belt in order to push my panties down. You pull off the thigh-high stockings as you remove my underwear.
You groan deep in your throat, a low guttural sound that could be mistaken for a growl, as I begin to stroke you, rediscovering you with my hands. You close your eyes and I can tell your concentration is on the sensation in your groin, and I wonder if another woman has tended to you in my absence. I stroke you and pull you down between my legs, letting the tip of your penis taste the heat of my pussy as I move my hand up and down the length of your erection. You groan, mutter my name under your breath, and your hands find my firm breasts, squeezing and kneading as my nipples protrude and rub against the fabric of my bra. I let your head brush against my wetness and your whole body stiffens. Your eyes snap open and I see determination harden the lines of your face.
Your hands move down my chest to my stomach and finally settle on the insides of my thighs, which you push apart, exposing me to your scrutiny. "Where's my landing strip?" you ask teasingly, referring to the area of hair I resisted waxing off at your request. On my last visit to the spa, I had it removed...the very same day I removed eight inches of hair.
You don't wait for an answer, and instead dip your face between my parted thighs and lick at my hot little hole, collecting evidence of my arousal on your talented tongue. I feel your hot breath against my skin as you release a satisfied breath of air.
"You taste so sweet," you murmur, dipping back in for more as I close my eyes and focus on the feel of your tongue gently parting the lips of my pussy to find my clit, already firm and sensitive to the touch.
I whimper and lift my hips slightly, trying to give you better access. You chuckle to yourself at my display of need and arousal before rising up and pinning my legs back into my upper body, keeping them parted but pinning me in place as you situate your hips against mine and thrust inside me in one long stroke. I cry out in surprise and pleasure, the feel of you familiar yet intoxicating.
"Jesus!" you nearly growl, burying your face in my neck as I claw the skin on your back. "You're so tight," you hiss through clenched teeth. "I forgot how tight you are."
With that you begin to thrust, moving in and out slowly as your fingers work to release the clasp of my bra. I wiggle and moan underneath you, still trying to become re-accustomed to your size swelling inside me. You release my breasts from their prison and collapse over my body again, the hair on your chest scratchy against my pink nipples.
I tighten my thighs around your hips and cross my ankles behind your back, encouraging you to keep moving. You comply, your thrusting increasing in speed and pressure as we both grunt. Sweat has begun to dampen both of our bodies and I know there's not much chance of us sneaking back into the reception after this little foray, so I wonder if we'll be able to hide in the hotel room all night, getting reacquainted.
Your thrusts inside me are measured, as if you are holding back a torrent of ferocity, and my hands are moving over the slick skin of your back trying to ignite the fire you have so far kept dampened. I drag my nails down your back and you moan, but continue your controlled thrusting unaware of my need for you to lose control.
"Don't hold back, Joe, please—" I beg, my feet prodding the small of your back as we move together. "Please, I need all of you. Please!"
My pussy is slick and hot and tight around your engorged cock, and the pressure exerted on your girth is tight and coaxing. You groan and I can tell your resolve is caving, but you thwart my effort to hurry your orgasm by pulling out of me.
Deciding now is a good time for a switch of positions, I lead you onto your back on the bed. I run my hands over your skin, damp and salty from sweat. You watch me with those blue eyes as I lay gentle kisses across your chest, on your nipples, down your stomach to that scar hidden in your pubic hair. I work my way even farther down to your dampened penis, and taste myself on your stiff shaft.
"Oh, fuck," you curse as my lips close around the tip of your dick. You'd filled my mouth after only a few inches, so I concentrate on suckling the head of your dick, letting my jaw relax and letting the muscles of my face adjust to the contortion needed to accommodate your size. You watch, one hand running absently through my hair, a finger tracing a gentle circle on the skin of my temple. I close my eyes and start to suck, taking you further into my mouth, tasting us in the pre-cum that has mixed with my own wetness.
Your hand falls away as I begin to throat you. We moan together, and you smile at the sound of my arousal. At the noises I make as I suck your dick. You know how much I love sucking your dick, and I'm determined to make up for lost time.
You pull a pillow down and prop your head up, so you can watch me blow you, my eyes fluttering somewhere between open and closed, my nostrils flaring as I force oxygen through the narrow holes. You watch the curve of my cheeks, the way they sink in as I suck, pulling at your dick, taking you further into my throat until finally my nose is buried in the curly hair at your pubis and my throat is like a vice on the head of your cock. Your hands go to my hair, holding me in place, as I feel you start to buck into my mouth. Your movements are gentle, and slow—no more than an inch at a time.
You are careful not to hurt me, or interfere with my own rhythm. We go on like this for some minutes, and I'm so aroused at the feel of you in my mouth that I can't help but send a hand down between my legs, exploring. I begin to finger myself as I suck on you, sending a finger into my now sopping cunt with every movement of your hips, as if it were your dick inside me instead of my finger. I add another finger, for realism's sake, and notice that your movements have become jerkier, that you have started to grunt with more force. When I feel your balls rise and tighten against my chin I know you're on the edge of orgasm.
"Maria—" you hiss, and I moan around your cock. The moan sends a vibration through my throat and before I can figure out what happened your hands are buried in my hair and you're pulling. I don't respond right away and your next tug lacks the gentleness of your previous caresses. Tears sting my eyes for a minute and I release you from my mouth. "Not like this," you say in explanation, which explain anything.
You lift yourself off the bed and wrap your arms around my upper body, pulling me on-top of you. You let us fall to the bed and then roll us, until I am on my back and you are above me, propped on your elbows looking down into my face. "I'm not ready to cum," you say.
I smile up at you, run the underside of my foot up and down your calf and pepper your shoulders and neck with kisses. "You seemed ready."
You smile back at me, and it seems like a happy smile but your face soon turns serious. You use your knees to inch my thighs apart and then lean back on your knees and use your hands, pushing my thighs apart until I'm spread-eagle in front of you, my pussy exposed to your intent gaze. You gesture to the headboard with your chin. "Scoot up," you direct me.
Obediently, I position myself on the bed, watching curiously as you stand and move away. You gather the silky plum scarf from the floor and make your way back to the bed, gathering both my hands in one of yours and wrapping the silky fabric around my hands and the slots in the bed's headboard.
You've never tied me up before, no one has ever tied me up before, and I find that I'm nervous and excited all at once. With my wrists bound and secure above my head my back arcs, accentuating my breasts. You move your focus back to my hips and spread my legs apart, even wider this time. My pussy almost aches in anticipation of being filled, but instead of your cock you put your hand against my pussy, rubbing me clit with the pad of your thumb.
I can't stroke you or kiss you or otherwise move the focus back onto you and as a result I feel naked and exposed. I am naked and exposed, my nipples hard and straining into the cool air of the room, my pussy wet and dripping as you work my clit. Soon I'm grunting and bucking my hips, straining into you in those brief moments when you slide a finger inside my pussy.
"Fuck me," I whisper, and even I marvel at the raw need in my voice. "Put your cock in me, please." You position yourself between my wide open legs and replace your thumb with the tip of your cock. You run your cock up one pussy lip and down the other and pause at the top to circle my clit. You do this over and over again and I'm on the edge and ready to cum—aching to cum.
"I don't want to cum before you," I say, biting my lip and trying to focus on anything except the sensations your cock is eliciting. Despite my pleas for you to stop my hips are bucking and I'm shamelessly grinding my cunt against your cock.
"You want me to cum?" you ask, and slide just the head of your cock into me. "You want me to blow it for you?"
You pull your cock out again, and I can see juices from my pussy all over the head of your cock. You see me looking and reposition yourself, until your cock is just in front of my face. I open my mouth, the movement almost involuntary.
"Do you want me to cum, Maria?"
"Yes." I lift my head up, straining toward you. I can't reach but you move forward an inch, letting your cock head slide into my mouth momentarily before pulling back out, giving me a taste.
"Where should I cum?" I can tell you're dying to get off. Your jaw is clenched and you've started stroking your cock.
"Wherever you wanna cum, baby. Where do you wanna cum?" I'm thinking that at this point, I'd be happy with anything. While I normally love the feel of you cumming inside me, and the slight pulse of your shaft as you shoot hot cum into me, I'm also ready to suck it out of you, waiting for that first gush to hit the back of my throat.
You lean your face in close to mine, put your mouth next to my ear. Your voice is barely a whisper but when I process the words I feel like I've been slapped.
"Where did he cum?"
You don't say his name. You don't have to. I should have seen this coming, really. How can I be surprised? And yet I am. I am shocked, and a little stricken, that you would talk to me like this when we are being so intimate, when things seemed to be going so well.
By the time I'm able to think again you're inside me, thrusting powerfully, vigorously. You aren't hurting me, not physically, but I am near tears anyway. You don't look angry. You look like you're about to get off, and maybe that's worse.