Chapter Five: A Dark and Sexy Turn
Her phone lay on the bed table, so no use calling.
If I had to describe what I did for the next few hours in one word, it would be "writhe." Whatever pain I'd inflicted on her -- with her express encouragement, don't forget -- couldn't compare to what she was doing to me that night.
When I said I wasn't the jealous type, that wasn't always true. Back in high school, I'd go crazy if I saw my girlfriend chatting with other guys. One day I spotted the girl I'd been dating (no sex yet but getting close, I thought) walking to class with a guy who'd transferred to our school. My mind went nuts, telling me she'd leapt on him because he was new and they were sneaking off together. Then, when my next girlfriend went to band camp and didn't respond to texts, I tortured myself envisioning the orgies she was having with the trumpet section. Learning later that in the first instance she was telling the new guy how to get to the science lab, and in the second that nobody got any signal up there and the band leader watched over the kids like a strict Victorian headmistress had little impact. My reaction was never about them. It was about me.
I got a new attitude in college. The first time I had sex with a classmate, I assumed we were a couple. She didn't. It happened with the next one, too. I wondered what I was doing wrong. Then it hit me: these women just want to have sex. It was incredibly freeing. Pretty soon I had a friend group where everybody viewed sex as pleasure and recreation. The green-eyed monster hadn't bothered me since. I often sought to date women whom I knew were also seeing other guys. I didn't need to hear specifics -- that was a kink I didn't think I was drawn to -- but the knowledge reassured me.
That didn't apply to my current relationship. I hadn't consciously changed my mindset, but that night it became excruciatingly obvious that something inside me had shifted. I rolled around on the bed, suffering tortures I hadn't felt since high school. I'd alternate drinking mini-bottles of booze from the fridge with jerking off.
Neither brought the relief I craved.
I remembered reading about a youth in ancient Sparta who stole a live fox. When he saw the Spartan police coming, he hid it under his shirt. While the officers questioned him, the fox devoured the guy's stomach, bite by bite. The young man never let on. Getting caught stealing would've shamed him. He died, but I guess it was with honor.
I regard all these kinds of stories apocryphal, from Washington's felled cherry tree to the kid's gory guts. The question isn't what happened, but what it means. I'd been told that one illustrated what Stoicism was all about. That night I realized it works better as a metaphor for the way anguish can gnaw at your guts until you want to die. You can be stoic or a big crybaby. Doesn't matter. Pain is pain.
I slept fitfully on and off, woke early, sticky with tears and jizz, took a shower, and headed for the restaurant. I could've ordered room service but had to get out of the room. Javier wasn't on duty. Maybe he was home jerking off to yesterday's boob shot. The bartender from last night wasn't there either. As I took a seat, I asked the young waitress for the biggest coffee they had. She brought me a mug and a carafe. I said I needed time with the menu, but all I did was turn pages without seeing anything.
I'd seated myself where I could see the door, and after a time I spotted a familiar figure. The geezer. Sorry, Brady. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, and a cowboy hat. Another guy ambled in behind him wearing the same outfit, only topped with a baseball cap turned backward. As they walked, I heard a clicking on the wood floor. One of them was wearing heels.
Fuck. She was the "other guy," dressed in borrowed jeans and shirt to avoid a walk of shame in a cocktail dress at seven a.m. They took a booth across from mine and ordered coffee. I stared openly, but they ignored me.
She'd broken me. Not denying it. It took her far less time than it had me to get her anywhere close to this state. Eventually, she slid out of the booth and started in my direction. Her clicking heels sounded loud in the nearly empty restaurant, so she took them off and tossed them under their table.
She padded over to me. "Hope the cops don't bust me for feet," she said, smirking. I couldn't find words. I looked like death. She didn't look rested but seemed flushed and energized. "Brady and I worked up quite an appetite. After we're done, wait ten minutes. Then meet me in the room." I nodded.
Brady must be a fit guy, because his jeans hugged her ass as she padded back to him. I watched them eat plates of pancakes, eggs, and sausages. I stuck to coffee. It burned my stomach like battery acid. Exactly what I wanted.
When they got up, she conferred with the waitress and pointed to me. I helplessly watched them exit, yet again. The waitress asked me if I wanted the bill on the room. All I could manage was another nod.
After two mugs of coffee and ten minutes -- nine minutes and thirty seconds, actually -- I headed for the elevators. Riding up I felt tingly, humiliated, exhausted -- and horny.
God, the therapy bills to sort out this one would be steep.
I found her waiting for me in the room, swathed in the hotel robe. She sat in a chair, legs crossed, the jeans and shirt piled beside her. I surmised she was naked under the robe. "Did you put the 'Do Not Disturb' on the door handle?" she asked.
It only took me a second, but when I came back inside, she'd busied herself pulling up the blankets I'd left strewn from a night of tossing and turning.
"Lay down," she said bluntly.
I put a knee onto the bed to climb up. She stopped me with a single word.
"Naked." Her tone implied that if I weren't a complete idiot, I would've known without being told. I stripped and lay on my back. She shed her robe -- proving me correct about her nudity beneath -- and climbed up. I reached out, but the sharp look she gave me said to lay back and let her work.
She reached to my left. Her nipples skidded across my chest, causing my whole body to shudder. I felt something soft circle my wrist. A restraint. Moving quickly, she soon had both of my wrists and ankles bound to the bed.
"Guess what? I found them. This too." She held up a strap with a rubber ball in the middle. She slipped the gag into my mouth and secured the ties behind my head.
With me silenced and immobilized, she started licking from my toes to my ears, pointedly skipping the organ between my legs that craved her attention. She climbed around on my body, rubbing her skin against mine and bringing different body parts near my face. I smelled her perfume, her natural musk, and something else. Brady? Would she have spent the night with him and then come to me naked without a shower?
Of course she would. This wasn't sex, per se. It was torture. We'd blurred those lines long ago.
She flung a leg over me to straddle my face, one knee on either side. She reached behind my neck and released the gag. The ball fell out of my mouth. Before I could say anything, I had a mouth full of pussy. My god, she tasted delicious. I licked, and her juices flowed. Did I taste something extra? Was she feeding me his cum? The question became mute when her body shook with her orgasm.
It took her a full minute to come down. Then she slid to my side and slurped my flaccid penis into her mouth. Worn out as it was from my obsessive jerking off, she got it hard in no time. Then she mounted me again, this time straddling my crotch.
She used my straining cock tip like a dildo, rubbing against her swollen clit. Her breathing became slow and deep. I wondered if she was about to come again. Then she stopped all motion and gave me a soulful stare.
"It's still your pussy, you know," she said quietly. She had to be toying with me. What were they doing all night? I was about to ask that question when she plunged her hips down hard, giving me an erotic jolt that left me mute. She rode me mercilessly, slamming our hips together.
When at long last I regained my ability to form words, I asked, "What did you do if you didn't fuck?"
"Oh, he rode me all night. Can't believe his stamina. Or mine."
"But... you said...." Then it struck me. "Oh. Shit. You let him..."
