This one-shot was written by myself and Green Puma for Ninapolitan's Friday Free For All. Please check out both Green Puma's other fics, and Ninapolitan's other Friday Free For All fics. I'll provide links below.
Merci beaucoup to super-beta Mabarberella!
My name is Carlisle Cullen. I am a doctor, a husband, and a father. My family—my wife and children—are my world. They inspire me to be the best man I can be. Like all men, I have failings—weaknesses that torment me. For me, it's sex. I have an unusual thirst for it, craving it almost constantly.
My wife is everything to me. She is brilliant, lovely, kind, generous, an excellent mother, and incredibly sexy. When I come home to my wife I make slow, passionate, worshipful love to her. But sometimes I need variety. Sometimes I need to fuck.
That, I do outside of my home.
As I came down the stairs my wife Esme stood in the entryway rifling through a stack of mail on the small table. Her head was tilted to one side as she unconsciously played with the earring in her right ear, her long sinuous neck stretched before me. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I elicited a surprised squeak as I pulled her close, my mouth closing in on the hot pulse point behind her ear.
Placing the mail carefully back on the table, she turned, wrapping slender arms around my neck. She kissed me, sweetly, the love between us almost palpable. In her arms, I felt whole. I felt like a man who had everything and was worthy of it. As she pressed against me, her body roused mine—it always did—but I didn't act on it. I didn't make love to my wife during the day. She preferred to keep our physical relationship quartered firmly in the bedroom, and only after twilight.
Sighing, I murmured the words of love we had spoken to each other countless times, promising to be home in time for dinner. It was a promise I rarely made, given my position at the hospital, so my wife smiled as we left the house, happy that we were to spend the evening together. I locked the door behind her, walking her to the Mercedes SUV she drove, before getting into my Jaguar XJL.
Like most men, I have a thing for cars. To climb into a truly well-built machine, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, and truly own it, to be its master on the road, gives the feeling of power—both power known and power withheld. It comes second only to having children, and the act that creates them.
Cars have always had a special place in my fantasies. This is because we fantasize about that which we cannot have. My beautiful wife, she doesn't believe that women like her—society ladies—have sex in cars. She's probably right. But still, I can't help the tingles of anticipation that travel from my hands to my cock whenever I grip the wheel of a fast car as I hug a tight curve in the road; skating the knife's edge between skilled assessment and recklessness.
The road to the imports-only auto body and repair shop was long, curvy, and rarely monitored by law enforcement. Perfect for getting worked up. Perfect for thinking about the woman I would see there. We had met a few times before, each meeting bringing us closer to the inevitable. She was beautiful, but more than that, we saw in each other a kindred love of power, love of speed, a love of physical satisfaction. Each time I saw her, the urge to own her, as well as the car, almost overcame me. I had resisted so far, leaving without touching her, but the last time had been close. Damn close.
Blonde, slim, and stunning, her attire and demeanor were the antithesis of my wife. She walked in a confident, strong, almost masculine way, but the way her dark blue overalls filled in just the right spots was anything but masculine. She was all woman.
Dammit, now I'm hard.
The repair yard was only another mile away—less than a minute at the speed I was traveling—I tried desperately to calm the beast in me, but to no avail. If I drove around until my erection abated, I'd be late for my appointment. I believed punctuality was the mark of the man, and I refused to be late.
Pulling into the driveway of Jake's Auto Body and Import Repairs, I cursed under my breath as she sauntered immediately up to my door, white t-shirt decorated with the odd streak of oil, overalls covering her lower half, straps tied around her waist. I couldn't catch a break. It couldn't be Jake that came out? She couldn't be busy with another customer?
Rolling down the window, refusing to exit the vehicle until I wouldn't disgrace myself, I smiled at her.
Dammit she was beautiful.
"Hello, Dr. Cullen." Her voice was pure sex. Raw, sensual, warm as a summer breeze. Just the sound of it made my dick twitch.
Her eyes flicked down then back up, and the smirk pulling one corner of her mouth up said she saw it too.
Ignoring her expression and the fact that her eyes were roaming shamelessly over my body only to settle again on my unfortunately responsive groin, I summoned all of my medical training to maintain composure.
"Hello again. I need to have you take a look at her. There's an odd sound coming from the right side of the engine block when I get her up over 80."
The smirk left her face as she descended into diagnostic mode.
"Rhythmic, or erratic?"
"Always right at eighty?"
"No, a few times it's been ten or so either direction."
She asked a few more quick questions before pulling her blonde hair back into an efficient ponytail, stepping away from the car as she did so.
"OK. Bring her into bay three, I'll run some tests. You can wait in the office. There's coffee—if you can call it that. I strongly suggest you add sugar. Lots of it."
With that she turned, her pale, almost alabaster skin glowing in the morning sun as she walked towards the shop.
Pulling into the designated bay, I stepped out of the car, turned, and jumped back, startled. I hadn't seen or heard her, but now she stood less than two feet from me; her mouth curved in a thoughtful smile, eyes watching me intently.
My back was pressed against the car as she inched closer—close enough that I could feel the warmth of her body radiating into mine. Raking my eyes over her figure, I couldn't help but notice that she was suffering from something akin to the female version of my trouble, her nipples hardened against the insufficient material of her bra and thin t-shirt.
So it wasn't just me.
Her hand came up in a supplicating gesture, held out by my side, waiting. My heart skipped a beat as I realized we were close enough that we were sharing breath. Sharing heat.
She leaned in a little more, those glorious peaks grazing my chest as she stretched up to speak quietly in my ear.
Her hot breath bathed me as she spoke quietly. "Doctor Cullen, I need—"
"Tell me," I whispered back, forcing my hands to remain at my sides until she said it. I would not touch her first. "Tell me what you need."
She was temptation itself. I couldn't stop myself.
I never could.
She let out a breath, hard this time, and surprised me with a small, triumphant chuckle.
"I need your keys, Doctor Cullen."
My mouth went dry.
Damn she was good.
But I was better.
"Left pants pocket."
Her eyes widened as she took in my meaning, then her face settled into a knowing smirk. But I saw through her. She wanted to control this, but in truth she was just as helpless as I was.
Her hand slid effortlessly into the satin-lined pocket of my suit pants, closing around the small set of keys secured there.
Her hand slid effortlessly along the length of my cock, now rock-hard from our little game.
The wide-eyed look returned, and I felt a momentary satisfaction knowing that I had effectively shut her up.
In a flash she was gone, and so were my keys. Before I had even collected myself, the car's engine roared to life, and she began her diagnostics, leaving me to wait in the room they used as an office and waiting lounge.
A full half hour later she was back, her almost-masculine saunter audible before she was visible in the doorway. As she entered the room, my entire thirty minutes of self-focus and physical calming was undone. Her hair had started to fall out of the haphazard ponytail, her cheek was streaked with a single smudge of dark grease, and her hands were filthy. She was glorious.
My wife would never let herself get filthy like that. God it was sexy that this woman could.
"Well, Doctor Cullen," she began as the hot water and citrus hand scrub flowed freely in the sink, "We can take care of it today, probably while you wait. I set Jake on it, but it'll be maybe an hour."
An hour. Waiting here. With temptation in my way. Dammit.
"OK, not a problem." I tried to sound casual.
Walking past me to grab a towel from the hook on the door, she nodded and dried her hands quickly. When she turned to me again, her back to the door, all I could see was that streak of grease on her cheek. There was something insanely sexy about the incongruity of it. She was so soft, feminine, fair, and also strong, smart, and...dirty.
Our eyes met, and her expression become instantly serious. Her eyes, normally a pale blue, darkened visibly. In that moment we both knew, as we always had, that this was inevitable.
In two strides I was in front of her. I couldn't say who touched whom first—it was a millisecond between us being two individuals and becoming one. My left hand rested on her cheek, thumb grazing the grease stain. My right clamped around the back of her neck pulling her mouth to mine. Her hands were gripping me, clawing me closer, pulling me into her with a need that did nothing but fuel my own inextinguishable desire.
One of us moaned as our tongues met. The other moaned as her body crashed into the door, slamming it shut with vicious finality. Pressing my hardened length into her, any concerns I had about being too forceful were dismissed as she wrapped her long legs tightly around me, her upper body held up by my pressing her against the door. Her arms enveloped me, pulling me in, roaming, exploring, owning me.
My hands, no longer listening to my orders, pulled her t-shirt up roughly, exposing the firm white belly below. Another tug and her bra was exposed—plain white cotton—the firm round flesh visible above the half-cups. So tempting. So lovely. Fumbling for the clasp, out of my mind with need to taste her, I almost lost it when her voice came in my ear, low and full of passion.
"Rip it," she growled at me.
Grabbing the middle, I gave it a very solid yank, twisting at the same time. The plastic clasp centered between her breasts gave with a plinking sound, and the material fell free, exposing her flesh to me.
Pressing herself against my cock, squeezing with her thighs, I felt her hand weave in the back of my hair, then press me to her. Taking one of the hard nubs in my mouth, I alternated between swirling my tongue around it, and clamping down on it with lip-covered teeth.
"Fuck," she hissed as I did this. "Doctor Cull—"
"—use my name." I growled at her. "My name. I want to hear you say it."
I didn't want to be "Doctor Cullen" for her. Not now. Not here.
"Carlisle," she breathed. "Carlisle."
I had never heard her say my name before, and the response it arose in me was almost frightening.
Stepping back just enough to release the pressure holding her up, her feet lowered to the floor to support herself.
"Take them off," I commanded. "Now."
Meeting my eyes, ours each mirroring the other's desire, she swallowed thickly, nervously.
I took a step closer, closing the small gap between us, and lowered my voice so even I could barely hear it.
"Take off your overalls. I need you to do that so I can fuck you. I want to hear you say my name again, goddammit, and when you say it, you'll be coming so hard my name will be all you can think of."
As quickly as she was able, she took her overalls off, as I freed myself of my own clothing. We stood there a moment, assessing, anticipating, breath coming rapidly for both of us, then when I couldn't stand it a moment longer, when the inviting mound between her legs was more than I could possibly resist, I lunged at her.
In a flash she was pressed up against the door, feet off the floor. Her thighs spread for me, whether I forced them apart or she spread them I couldn't say. As she lowered herself, using me as leverage, she enveloped me, pulling me into her warm depths. I sank deep into her, the both of us letting out an audible sigh of satisfied longing at the sensation.
I began to move in her, slowly at first, trying to hold back, trying to relish the sensation. She was having none of it. I heard her growl as her teeth clamped down on my neck.
"Fuck me," she commanded.
Grabbing her hands, I pressed them to the door above our heads, kissing her hard. My body slammed into hers, and she reacted with a triumphant sound. She arched in to meet my thrusts, her body tensing as she got closer.
I could feel my own orgasm approaching, but wanted—no, needed—to wait for her. I needed to know I could make her feel this too.
Another few strokes, and she began to make a low humming sound against my mouth. Breaking away, she breathed against me.
"Say it!" I commanded.
Her eyes sprang open, meeting mine.
"Carlisle—" she breathed, "—Carlisle, fuck...yes—" and then with one final thrust, her thighs gripping me almost painfully, she cried out, my name falling from her lips like salvation. The sound, the knowledge of what I did to her, sent me over the edge, crashing into the abyss of my own release. I was lost in the heaven of her body as wave after wave of pleasure, satisfaction, and lust owned me, owned her, making us one.
And then, just as suddenly as we had come together, we were two people, standing apart, dressed again. The cold draft against my skin was a phantom, created by the absence of her body against mine.
She stepped close to me one last time, placing a hand on my cheek, our eyes meeting for just a moment.
"Go home to your wife," she said simply, and walked out the door.
"Please come in, Dr. Cullen."
I gave him a warm smile as I opened my office door, gesturing him inside with a flourish of hand.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor," he said in a voice that was notably grim.
He seemed deeply fatigued, he wrung his hands, and his eyes were darkened gray with trouble. We didn't have long, so I skipped my customary offer of a drink and dove us right into our session. The words were on my lips, but before I could get them out he volunteered the answer to my question.
"I did it again."
He was already seated on the white leather couch by the time I sat down in my chair. His tone bled astonishment and self loathing, as if he didn't know whether he needed admonishment or congratulation.
"What did you do?"
We both knew the answer, but he needed to say it, just the same.
"Cheated on my wife." His voice was pained. "I cheated on my wife again."
His face fell a little, as mine remained neutral.
"Was it the same woman as last time?" He still expected my judgment, though he'd been in therapy with me for months.
"With a different woman," he admitted, shaking his head, "Always a different woman."
I just nodded and kept quiet. Half of therapy was getting the patients to hear themselves, letting what came from their own lips sink in. We sat in silence for a while, he wading through his own thoughts, I observing him as he did.
"Tell me about this last one," I commanded gently after a minute, not wanting him to drift too far.
I caught the slight twitch from beneath his pants.
"Last week, it…" he began, clearly struggling to explain. "I left the house to take my car into the shop. There's a mechanic there—a woman," he emphasized, snapping his eyes up to mine meaningfully. "And she knows cars. I mean, she really, really—"
He blew air out of his cheeks as he closed his eyes, letting his head fall into his hand.
"It was bound to happen," he said with soft conviction. "It was only a matter of time…"
It took patience and discipline not to speak when my reaction was so strong. But I had to let him experience the emotion, had to let him get to his own truth.
"I just keep thinking, if Esme knew…"
When he couldn't finish his sentence after several long moments, I knew it was time to step in.
"Does she know?"
It was a good sign he was bringing it back to his wife. His wife was the reason he came.
"Sometimes I think she might." He looked at me with intense vulnerability then.
I debated leveling with him, weighing what a therapist should say against what I wanted to say and what he needed to hear. Stalling, I rose to face the white painted shelves that recessed into my office walls. My eyes scanned over my books, then the small abstract sculpture that reminded me of water. I walked forth, tracing the edge of the shelf until my hand stopped on my crystal pitcher.
"Women know their men better than they are given credit for, Dr. Cullen."
I poured myself a glass and enjoyed the ghost of cucumber from the infusion and the coolness from ice that couldn't have melted long before. All the while, he was freakishly quiet, no doubt planning his attack. I would do nothing to stop it. He may be my patient, and a sex addict, but I was still a woman.
I loved how I never heard him rise from the couch, never felt anything before the whisper of his breath on my ear.
"Cure me, Doctor," he pleaded, covering my hand that held the glass as his body hovered scandalously close to mine.
"I can't cure people. You know that."
Heat descended upon my body with the knowledge of what was coming. I shuddered when he guided the glass in our hands to trace a cool path along my collarbone.
"Then, heal me," he desperately begged.
"I can't heal you," I whispered, once again telling him the truth.
Plucking the glass up abruptly, he sandwiched me solidly between his body and the shelf. I could feel his length, rigid and ready, against my lower back. Weaving his fingers in my hair, he gently pulled my head to expose a length of my neck. By the time he finished running his nose from the juncture of my shoulder to my ear, I could no longer breathe.
"Then, fuck me," he demanded, tugging roughly at my hair.
He did this every time. He went from weak to wanton, from pussycat to prick. It turned me the fuck on.
"You know what to do," I growled.
He got off on that. On me telling him what to do. He played at dominating me because it got him what he wanted: when he pushed me, he knew I'd push back. It was a classic deflection tactic—baiting the shrink—and this man had it down to a science. He knew just what buttons to push, in my mind and on my body. The thing was, I also knew his.
"You're in my house, now. Get on the goddamned couch."
He groaned in lusty protest as he pulled away, but still obliged my command. While he retreated to the couch to disrobe himself, I stripped down to my stockings and shoes. I took longer than I needed to, keeping my back to him as I withheld my regard.
This was my favorite part (well, almost my favorite part)—leaving him there naked and squirming. He knew better than to touch himself now, knew better than to speak, much less utter another command. I turned to him finally, smirking at his involuntary groan, at how his eyes now appeared almost black. It was so wrong of me, how dearly I relished besting his wife, how smugly I delighted in the way his eyes roved my body.
Crossing the distance to the couch, I walked slowly, naturally. His eyes didn't once meet mine. No sooner had I reached him than did I turn around and pike my body until my fingers brushed the floor.
"Lick," I commanded.
He steadied my hips with his hands but I felt his breath shudder against my wetness before he obliged me with a long, thorough lave to my slit. My taste never failed to stir him into frenzy, and soon he was moaning softly and eating me with slow, indulgent splendor. I panted in ecstasy at the perverse crimes this man could commit with his tongue. When I was sure my knees would buckle if I didn't switch positions soon, I spread my legs so my knees were on the outside of his.
"Down," I ordered, my voice slightly weaker as I covered his hands with mine.
He took a final deep suck of my clit before slamming me down into his lap.
"Fuck, yes," he hissed when I was fully impaled.
He didn't move yet, but I could feel him throbbing. Bracing one hand on his thigh
and the other on the back of his head, my pussy tightened with the most delicious twitch as I started to leisurely ride his cock.
And since God had spared Carlisle Cullen nothing, a magnificent cock it was. His girth tantalized and filled my every sweet cranny, the pronounced ridge of his glorious head hitting me right there with every thrust. He was long and impressive but he knew just how much to give, and he never gave my petite body too much. If I was honest, that was the part I really loved—feeling this calculating man fight for control. Feeling him shake with effort from the restraint needed to keep from breaking my body in half. Sensing the moment when he lost the battle.
"Doctor!" he cried wantonly, when my pussy clenched again.
Translation: Keep it up, and I'm gonna lose it.
My lip curled up in a half-smile and I shifted positions, sitting up so I could quicken my pace. He groaned in the best kind of agony, but followed right along, tightening his hands on my hips and slamming up in time with my slamming down. We were fast and furious but despite our speed, he stroked me with finesse.
"Therapy is about letting go, Dr. Cullen," I panted. "Without release, you'll never be free."
He drove into me harder, now grunting with animalistic abandon I was certain he did not show his wife.
"Let go, Carlisle," I whispered. There was no way he heard me. I could feel in his body that he was lost.
And then it happened. His hands left my hips and he wrapped his arms around my chest, burying his cheek in my shoulder blade as he pulled me close. He wailed the most beautiful cry that was almost a whimper; his pelvis thrust up in an erratic rhythm as he spilled his silky load.
That was my trigger. I utterly and thoroughly got off from his letting go. This man made me orgasm so good it hurt. Moments later, we sat sweaty and intertwined, still but for our aftershocks. On the hour, my Tibetan bowl chimed.
"Damn it!" I muttered as my computer yet again showed me the Blue Screen of Death. "Next time, I'm buying a Mac."
It's a threat I've used before, but I was pretty sure there would be follow-through this time. I was in the middle of contemplating a trip to the University Village Apple Store when the doorbell interrupted my diatribe. Sighing, I set down the KVM switch in my hand, walking to the door, and opened it wide.
"Doctor Cul-len!" an energetic young voice sing-songed at me.
My eyes widened in surprise as I took in the familiar young lady before me. My daughter had been practicing cheerleading routines with her. She was several inches shorter than I, lean, with amazing skin. I groaned internally as I took in the miles of leg visible beneath her microscopic skirt.
You are a dirty old man, Cullen.
Collecting myself, reining in my inner pervert, I stepped back from the doorway and smiled, inviting her in.
"You're here to practice with Alice?" I asked as she skipped past me into the foyer.
"Yeah I am but she's probably held up I was already on my way when she called to tell me she was running late but it was too late to go back home so if it's OK I'll just hang out here with you for a few until she gets home."
I had completely forgotten about her rapid-fire, unpunctuated speech pattern. She was young, and would probably—hopefully—grow out of it.
"Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, indicating the kitchen with a wave of my arm.
She cocked an eyebrow at me, biting her lower lip coquettishly before replying, "Margarita?"
I chuckled. "Nice try. How about some limeade? It's almost the same, but won't get me arrested."
"Whatever, Dr. Cullen." Her tone and manner were unabashedly flippant, and it was somewhat contagious. I found myself letting go of the frustrations born from computer death, smiling down at the ray of sunshine before me.
"Fine. Do you have any sparkling water?" She brushed past me to make her way into the kitchen, and I swear she slowed as our bodies made contact, rubbing more firmly against me than was strictly necessary.
My breath caught as she did so, feeling my body awaken in response to this amazingly sexy young lady.
Fucking stop it, Cullen! She's your daughter's friend!
Walking into the kitchen she spun on the heel of her white sneaker, looking me up and down in slow scrutiny, her pink silken lips pursed slightly as her gaze passed over—then returned to—certain parts of my body.
"Cherry's my favorite." Her brow arched suggestively. "Do you like cherry, Doctor Cullen?"
Startled out of my reverie, I realized I had been staring at her lips as she spoke, letting myself—just for a moment—indulge in brief fantasies involving that mouth wrapped around…
"Doctor Cullen?" she asked again, sounding amused.
Clearing my throat, I repeated my admonition to keep the inner perv tightly controlled. I nodded and opened the fridge, pulling out a fruit-flavored sparkling water. My wife and daughter liked the godawful things, so we always had a fridge full of them.
Handing her the cold glass bottle with a French label, she smiled her thanks, opening the second drawer to the left of the sink with surprising familiarity. The resulting hiss as she popped the top off the bottle almost startled me. I had been lost in thought, watching her legs when she was turned from me. They were truly magnificent. Starting from her lily-white sneakers and tennis socks, up the defined, smooth skin of her calves, to the subtle curves of her thighs, my mind was almost on auto-pilot by now, thinking of what sat nestled at the apex of those stunning legs.
She turned, and for a moment I felt blinded by the loss of my view, until I saw her mouth wrap around the bottle as she took a drink, tilting her head back to let the cool liquid pour into her. Her mouth would be my downfall. She appeared to wear no makeup, but her lips were nonetheless glossy, full and a stunning shade of pink. Wrapped around the mouth of the bottle, I could imagine all too easily what it would look like to have that mouth wrapped around my cock, warm and soft, taking me in as far as she could until—
Then she looked up, and her eyes said it all. She knew what I was thinking. She knew that I was her friend's perverted father, gawking at this teenage cheerleader. Shame ripped through me, and I turned my face away to hide the outward expression of my internal loathing.
"Doctor Cullen?" Her voice was low, quiet, not at all her usual tenor.
I looked up, finding her leaning back against the counter, elbows rested on the hard surface, a look of patient understanding on her face.
"Doctor Cullen," again, she had a tone that was utterly out of character for her. Not manic chipmunk, no indeed. This was…womanly. She stood fully and walked toward me a few paces. "Don't make it like that. Please? You and I…we're the same. We just want some fun. Don't over-think it." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Just go with it."
"No!" I jumped back, startling both of us with the vehemence of my reaction. "I…I can't. You're…Jesus, you're just a..."
"A what? A kid? A teenager?" she was peeved, and rightly so. She was clearly a woman. But I needed to put whatever distance—physical, logistical, whatever—between us.
"I just can't! Fuck…I know you're…you know…of age, but still you're my daughter's friend! You're in high school, for crying out fucking loud." I continued backing away from her as she kept taking step after slow step toward me. Eventually my back hit the door of our wine fridge. With a pantry to my right and the closed door to my left I was trapped.
"Doctor Cullen." She was snide now, adopting the rude dismissive tone typical of high school aged kids. "You know, and I know, that you want this."
She stood directly in front of me now, as I pressed against the fridge, desperate to gain whatever distance I could. Her lips mocked me, and those legs…oh fuck, those legs…I was at her mercy, and could only hope that she had a strength I didn't.
But she wasn't even looking for it. She wanted this.
"No! Damn it, I don't."
Then her goddamned hand reached out and ran firmly up the length of my cock. I groaned in defeat as her mouth twitched in a triumphant smile.
"Your body says otherwise, Doctor Cullen."
"Fuck my body," I grumbled.
"Is that an order?"
"No. Definitely not."
"Did I mention that I want this too?"
With that she took my right hand and slid it under her tiny skirt, catching the top elastic edge of the white cotton panties I could now see, she slid my hand inside. I wanted to resist her—I needed to—but it was futile. Especially once my fingers made contact with her pussy. She was completely hairless, something I had always loved. My dick grew harder than I knew possible when I felt that. She slowly pressed the tip of my middle finger into her wet pussy, her mouth forming a seductive "O" as she did so, her eyes closing halfway.
"Oh, God that feels good. Oh fuck, Doctor Cullen, that feels so good."
I couldn't help it. My finger began to press in further, losing itself in her warm depths. But then she stopped me.
"That's far enough. I'm…I'm a…" And for the first time, she seemed to lose some confidence.
"You're a what?" I asked, concerned.
"I'm a virgin."
"You're a…really? But I thought you…"
She snorted, her confidence back in full force. "Doctor Cullen," she said huskily, "just because I'm saving one thing for my husband, doesn't mean I haven't practiced the rest."
I realized then, that while I'd been distracted by her revelation, she had undone my belt, and was slowly unzipping my pants.
"What are you doing? Jesus you can't—"
With that she got down on her knees and released me from my boxers. I ran my hands through my hair, desperate for some clue as to what to do. I wanted her—fuck I wanted her—but I was scared shitless at the same time. She was so young.
Then I looked down, and all debate ended. Those lips—those cherry fucking lips—found the tip of my cock, wrapping around the head for just a moment before her tongue flicked out to lick the glistening bead collected there.
That mouth. Oh. My. God. That mouth would not—could not—be denied. And the idea, the sheer idea, that this sexy, beautiful, young thing who was sucking my cock was a virgin no less. I just about blew my load right there.
With a loud groan, I gave in entirely. My hand found the back of her head, and I weaved my fingers through her hair, guiding her mouth onto me. Her hand took the base of my cock while her mouth milked the rest. So warm, so soft. She took me in repeatedly, watching my face every few strokes. Watching me watch her lips as they slid across my hard flesh.
"Touch yourself," I commanded. I would have loved to do the job myself, but couldn't possibly reach her in that position.
She moaned against me, and I saw her other hand slide up into her skirt, finding the path mine had earlier. The sight was almost too much to take. Her tiny cheerleader skirt hiked up as she rubbed furiously at her clit—something she'd clearly had practice at—while that amazing mouth was taking me in.
After just a dozen or so more strokes, her movements became less rhythmic, and I could feel the vibration of her quiet moans against the head of my cock. If there's one thing I know, it's the signs that a woman is about to come. I was ready too, just holding off as long as I could.
"Baby, let it go. Come for me. Make yourself come, baby," I crooned at her.
Her hand faltered once, twice, then she whimpered against me, her mouth never stopping.
"Oh God, that's it!" I groaned. Nothing got me off faster than knowing the woman I was with was being pleasured—even if it was by her own efforts. With that, I let the orgasm overtake me, riding the waves of pleasure as they tore through my body. Guiding her mouth to a slower pace, then to a stop, I noticed she had swallowed all of my seed.
I guess she had done this before.
She looked like the cat that ate the proverbial canary as I tucked everything back in and buckled my belt. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, because approximately ninety seconds later the front door crashed open.
"Mom? Dad? I'm home!" my daughter hollered from the foyer, before walking into the kitchen. Her hand flew to her mouth, covering it in surprise as she saw the uniformed cheerleader now sitting casually at the breakfast nook.
"Cheerleading practice! Crap, I forgot!"
The Rent Boy
Slipping into the dark hotel room, I stood just inside the closed door. My eyes adjusted to the absence of hallway fluorescents as he adjusted to me. Cloudy sky over open water and lights from the piers cast the room in a lavender glow. I had enough experience with Seattle hotels to know they would shine well into the night.
After a second or two, his naked form came into focus. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows stood opposite the bed. He was sprawled out and laid open, on his back and propped up on his elbows, face wide-eyed and fearful while his dick was gloriously hard.
I'd been told he was a virgin, but one never really knew. The marrieds were all full of lies.
Since when were rent boys shrinks?
We weren't. And I liked it that way, liked keeping things professional.
"Let's review the rules."
He didn't look like much of a threat, but it wouldn't hurt to assert my control. The authoritative tone usually turned them on, so it would kill two birds with one stone.
"Rule number one: money up front."
His eyes shifted towards a shallow stack of bills on the bedside table.
Hundreds, I guessed. They were anchored by a wedding ring. I kept my face neutral.
He squirmed uncomfortably. It may have been from nerves. Then again, it may have been from his massive erection. The pearly bead that oozed from his tip proved that he wanted this bad.
"Rule number two:" I said sternly, "only I do the fucking. Repeat it if you understand."
He cleared his throat, but when he spoke his voice was sexy and slow.
"Only you do the fucking."
I began walking slowly, approaching the bed.
"Rule number three: you will not be aggressive. The minute you get rough is the minute I bounce. And I decide what constitutes rough. Capisce?"
His eyes darted to my crotch, but when they darted back, he nodded. Reaching the edge of the bed, I used my finger to slide his ring from on top of my money and pocketed my cash.
"Fourth and final rule: absolutely no kissing. Save that shit for your wife."
Turning abruptly, I worked at my zipper, intending to get undressed.
"Wait!" he called, and I heard him sit up. "I want to touch you through your pants."
Looking back at him from over my shoulder, I cocked an eyebrow.
"What, exactly, do you want to touch?"
This was my favorite part—making them say it. As expected, this tripped him up. I watched as he gathered the courage to say,
"I want to touch your cock."
His voice was a whisper--not one of shame, but one of latent need. I took my hands off my zipper and turned back around, swaggering toward the bed.
"Have at it."
Ever the professional, I made my voice coy. By then, he was propped up on his knees shuffling to the edge. Gravity had pulled his cock down off of his stomach and it bounced slow and heavy in perfect time with his crawl. I would have liked a closer look at his clear, piercing eyes, but they fixed upon the bulge in my jeans. When his hot hand finally reached out to firmly grip my shaft, his head fell on my shoulder.
"You feel so good." His whisper was almost reverent.
My nose grazed his dark blond hair. I was halfway to taking a deep inhale when I saw him move his other hand. He began breathing hard, and I watched, transfixed, as his elbow fell into an unmistakable rhythm. He was touching us both at once, eliciting a pair of strangely synchronized moans.
Since when did shit like this turn rent boys on?
"Please..." he begged. "I need more."
His irises were dark as he lifted his pretty head.
"Down on your knees," I growled, thrilling when his eyes turned to blue fire at my tone.
He likes it rough.
Unzipping my pants and letting them slide down my thighs, my own heavy cock fell out. I kept hold of his shoulder as I pushed him down.
"Now suck it, you little bitch."
His eyes were wide as he stared down my dick. He licked his lips, and startled me by swooping right in, swallowing half of my shaft and sucking hard. My hips bowed forward as his lips pulled back on my head and I loosed another unintentional moan. My hand gripped his shoulder as he dove back in for seconds, this time swallowing more. His style was rough and unpracticed, and it rattled me a little but the havoc he wrought on my cock turned me on.
My other hand went to his hair, fisting the dark blond that looked sexy and almost brown in the dark. Every pull of his mouth and vibrating sound gave me a new wave of pleasure. When his nose grazed my pubic hair and his lips touched my base, I knew he had done this before.
"Fuck my mouth," he commanded, breathless.
Of course I obliged, laughing softly through my pleasure. Rookie, my ass.
His eyes were wild and his hands almost clawed at my hips when he finally pulled back.
"I need…" he began, stumbling up and falling back onto the bed.
"Tell me what you need, baby."
Since when did rent boys use pet names?
He wrapped his hand around his shaft as if stopping it from exploding and groaned as he closed his eyes.
Finally, he ground out, "I need your dick in my ass."
I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. I was a tool of his fantasy, but somehow I needed this as much as him. He pinned me with an intense stare as he opened pleading eyes.
"Please believe that I'm not gay."
I chuckled under my breath.
"Neither am I."
Beyond his resplendent beauty, he was just like all the rest—brave enough to get fucked but desperate to compartmentalize his desire. He needn't worry. I wasn't there to judge, and I would certainly give him his fuck. I shook my head dismissively. He needed to cut this shit out. The two of us had work to do.
"Now, turn around and bend over."
Dick still in hand, he obliged. He knelt on the bed, face toward the center, ankles hanging over the edge. Pulling the lube from my pocket, I coated a finger and rubbed it in circles on and around his hole. He was panting and he trembled slightly, clearly enjoying the tease. I drew it out for all it was worth, smiling each time he sat back on his heels and inched suggestively toward my hand.
"Yes…" he hissed when I slipped my index finger in. I had never felt such tight heat.
This preparation was more than a means to an end. My John had a magical ass. I took my time, plunging slowly, relishing the sensation, taking my time as I added a second finger. We were both panting with desire by the time I added the third.
"I wanna fuck you so bad, baby."
Since when did rent boys say that and actually mean it?
"Please…be gentle." he whimpered.
And I would be. I didn't want to hurt him.
Once I lubed it up, my cock seemed to sparkle in the borrowed city light. I watched in fascination as I made the initial thrust, watched my head disappear beyond his tight ring. He let out an endless wail that was tinged with pain but evident in its pleasure. I stopped to let us catch our breath. We were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, our dicks straining and twitching with ecstatic effort.
Pulsing my hips experimentally, I probed to find out how virgin his ass was, to learn how much he could take. He was sensitive, I quickly learned—very much so. I throbbed at the sound of his whimpers and cries. Never before had I imagined that human sounds could be so beautiful and raw. I thrust a little deeper, wanting to make him cry out more, without giving him too much. But I was greedy to take him, because I'd never fucked like this.
He was beyond words now, and so was I, every stroke hitting me everywhere at once. When I bent over him and grabbed his shoulder for leverage, I hit the magic spot. His high-pitched moan was exotically animalistic. The clenching of his ass was deliciously violent. His ass milking my cock jostled me to my core, pushing me to my own vocal release. When we found ourselves in a wasted heap on the bed some minutes later, I realized that by this time I was usually showered and out the door.
As I met his tired eyes, we shared some profound acknowledgement of the mutually unexpected. His eyes seemed to ask 'Since when did this get so good?' while mine asked,
Since when did rent boys stop faking it?
"My love..." Carlisle murmurs, sliding in behind me, planting a soft kiss to my jaw as is hand encircles my waist. He has taken me by surprise. I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn't even hear him walk in.
After nineteen years of marriage, such observations were seldom delivered with venom.
"I didn't mean to be, love," he says in that sultry voice that goes straight to my soul. "I was in Seattle. I had to see a man."
We are standing before the marble-top table just inside the foyer. Meeting my eyes through the mirror, he dips his head to kiss my shoulder.
"I wish you'd have told me about your plans," I say. "We could've ridden together. I just got back myself."
When he raised an eyebrow, I explained, "I had to see a man."
His eyes twinkled with mischief.
"How'd your meeting go?" he asked.
"Even better than I planned," I said with airy satisfaction. "How 'bout yours?"
His gaze was intense.
"It blew my fucking mind."
He turned me in his arms then, raising his beautiful hands to gently cup my face. His eyes softened to reverent adoration before he leaned in for a slow, sweet kiss. When he pulled back moments later, his eyes caught on the black nylon garment bag emblazoned with the "Sid's Vicious Costumes" logo.
"What's in the bag?" he asked with an opportunistic smile and thinly-veiled excitement.
I swatted him playfully.
"Not for you to know—yet. I swear, you're incurable!"
"Maybe I should see a doctor, or a nurse..." He winked at me suggestively. "Or double up on sessions with my shrink."
I feigned ignorance and hummed, "Yes, darling. Maybe you should," all the while I was doing a mental inventory of my nurse costumes. It's been awhile since we played at the hospital...
My name is Esme Cullen. I am a wife, a mother, a lady, and an interior designer. My home is my nest. I have built it into a beautiful fortress wherein my family is nurtured and safe. Like all women who have been cultured to put others first, I am teeming with latent desires. I love my family, but sometimes I indulge myself in who I could have been.
My husband is everything to me. He is doting, tender, and kind. He is a solid provider, unequivocally devoted to our marriage, and an amazing father to our children. When he comes home at night, we make slow, passionate, worshipful love. My husband is an exquisite lover. But sometimes I want to be fucked. That I do outside my home.
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