Aural Fixation

Author's note: I am thrilled to have gotten a lot of positive comments and votes on my very first story, Sierra's Amazing Mouth. It means a lot to know that it was enjoyed by so many people! <3

This is something a little different, and I hope you find it exciting.

All characters have been pulled into existence from the erotic ethosphere for your personal pleasure. Please take care to relish in their unreality, as is their intent.

***

I could feel the heat from his steel blue eyes riveting into my tingling body as I navigated the bustling walkway before me. I knew I should have kept moving, ignoring his intense surveillance, but I slowed . . . just enough to let him know I noticed.

I could tell from his posture and attire that he was married or divorced or something, but his face was one of those chiseled sex-pot faces that make so many women go weak in the womb.

Surely he had an inkling of what his hard pressing gaze did to fragile thighed women like me. It made us want babies, lots of babies that looked just like him, bursting from between our legs where we invited him into in the first place. Okay, so maybe it wasn't floating around on the surface of our minds or anything, but it was there, somewhere deep within the tangled strands of our DNA.

As my pace slowed I instinctively made an abrupt left into a small store selling what, menagerie? Jesus, was it that obvious? I didn't care. I knew he would follow even if I had strolled right into a burning building.

And he followed alright. I heard the tinkling of the bells chiming behind me as I walked the first creaky aisle filled with rows of sappy, doe-eyed Precious Wonder figurines, puke.

My heart was racing, but it felt very natural. I probably would have acted exactly the same way had we been out roaming the Serengeti, back before the invention of the stick.

I slowed to feign interest in a row of small books on . . . something. Crochet? No, it was macramé. What the hell was the difference? Oh well, it did the trick. I picked up the book as seductively as one can pick up a lame book, and flipped it over to "read" the back cover.

I felt his eyes breathing on my neck, and my unadorned hand instinctively reached up to shield it teasingly from view. The old floor groaned beneath him as he slowly approached, sure of himself, yet not too aggressive. It was perfect. My thighs tingled and my heart began to dance beneath my blouse. Play it cool.

I turned my head to look directly into those flashy eyes, cocking a brow at him as if to ask what the hell he thought he was doing.

Then I let my gaze settle on his mouth, and I knew. That mouth was going to be my favorite part of him. I was going to enjoy the way those bulbous lips would hold back his delicious tongue from entering my hungry mouth too soon. The way it would open around my breast, gently drawing a bare nipple in to its moist center to suckle. The way it would look divine with just an upper lip showing through my fuzzy hair as the rest of it dragged my needy body into a sea of electrical bliss and orgasmic fervor.

Fuck. That was just his mouth. I was in big trouble as my underwear seemed to suddenly feel cumbersome and unnecessary.

His button down shirt was of course open too far, or not far enough. The tan skin appearing below his cleft chin was pissing me off it needed to be kissed so badly.

I knew I would see a ring on his finger, and that didn't piss me off nearly as much as the other thing . . . what was it again?

The whole scene was happening too fast, and if I didn't pull my shit together he might just have me right here on the floor, with Garfield and Odie watching.

"Can I help you?" I asked him, with as much off-putting disdain as I could muster.

"Um," He gloriously stuttered, clearly not having thought this through. I loved that. "Do I know you?"

"That depends," I said keeping my eyes steady, knowing full well I could pause here indefinitely and really say just about anything next . . .

Such as: "Have you ever been to Groove City," or "Do you spend much time around courthouses," or "Have you ever been blindfolded and tied to a bed in the middle of a New Year's Eve party on 54th Street?"

I went with . . . silence. I tore my eyes away from his piercing gaze and looked down at my oh-so important book.

"On what?" he asked, stepping an inch closer. My nerve endings reached out for his across the stale air of antique paper and scented candles. I raised my eyebrows again but not my eyes.

"On whether you followed me in here because you thought you knew me," I lazily ran my finger down the spine of the stupid book, "or because you were just hoping to."

Man that was a little much, even for me. I knew how to tease a man, but come on, that was just giving it away. He didn't smile though, or even move a muscle. It was a stalemate while he processed my reply, neither of us willing to make another move, or say another word.

I knew I had the upper hand, so I lifted my eyes to meet his again and cocked my head a bit, arching my eyebrows and thinking loudly, "Well?"

"My name is Mike," he said a bit sheepishly. He thrust his hands into his deep jean pockets. I was glad that he wasn't being too cocky on the surface. I was, however, hoping he could be

very

cocky a little further down.

"So you don't remember me then, Mike?" I asked, setting the book back on the shelf in front of me and turning to face him. "Or are you just hoping that perhaps I might recognize you?"

He looked me in the eye and then dropped his gaze down to my patent leather Persache purse, into which my hand had suddenly vanished.

He leaned just an inch forward and lowered his tone to me, "Both." His single word rippled down my legs.

"Well . . . Mike," I said as I nervously fished out a business card I had gotten from an old bookstore two blocks over, "I can't say that I recognize you from anywhere. I

can

say however, that I appreciate your forthcoming nature."

I found a pen and cradled the card in my shaking palm, scratching down my name and number as quickly as I could. I had to get the hell out of there before I said something that might give him the impression that I would take him home that minute and make his night.

"So if you do happen to remember," I said, flipping the card out between my expensively manicured nails, "you can call me . . . "

He reached up and fumbled a little grabbing the card from my electrified fingertips, and I almost touched him. That was dangerous. A first touch has always been my weakness and I needed to stay sharp.

It always seemed to be the married ones that had this effect on me. Maybe it was the promise of a true fling with no attachments I was into. The last guy I was seeing was so afraid he would lose me somehow that I just needed to get the hell out of there, a self-fulfilling prophecy and all that. Who needs that kind of constant pressure?

This man got to me though. As I studied him while he briefly read my card I could see that he was neat, but not polished. His hair was thick and full, and I wanted to set my face in it to see how it smelled. I imagined that his wife was a girl's girl, spending too much time with her friends and her mother, shopping and talking and blah blah. If she had paid him proper attention at home, his eyes on another sexy woman would have simply reminded him of her, instead of the fact that she wasn't with him nearly enough.

As it was, he was hot for me, thank god. I would have paid him for sex had he asked me to, but I knew he had no idea that women actually thought this way. I was attractive, and he was attracted. That was it.

Leaving things as they were, I stepped to the side and walked past him, breathing into his ear, "Good bye, Mike."

As I made the power move and sauntered toward the exit, I heard the floor moan as he turned to watch me leave. I opened the door with as much poise and nonchalance as I could muster, and just barely heard behind me, through the diminishing space between the door and the jamb, an awkward "B-Bye Grace."

***

That evening as I lay across my couch with a glass of fine red hanging from my fingers, I thought about our brief encounter, and how inevitable it all was.

It wasn't really a matter of if my phone would ring, but when. I already had him, just as he already had me. I was suddenly hungry, but not for food. Starving. I couldn't keep my mind on anything but his blue eyes and his tan neck . . . and that fucking mouth.

I sipped from the crystal glass and felt the dry merlot slide down the back of my throat. Even that reminded me of what we might do. Eventually . . . suddenly . . . passionately.

I rubbed my feet together as I listened to my favorite internet jazz station broadcasting from my phone through the overhead sound system, knowing full well that the horn section of classic jazz may as well be called the horny section. The smooth aggressive tones slid up my legs like the tide, and my free hand followed suit.

I realized on my way home that it had been a while since my thoughts had turned so carnal in response to a man. I hadn't been seeing anyone for about a month, and the last time a man touched me in a sexual way was some weirdo on the subway. That put me off thinking about men for what I thought was going to be forever.

I realized then that I just needed some raw stimulation to get my head back in the game. His eyes were definitely fantastic, but his body standing close to mine was perfect. We fit and I knew it right away. It was going to be good.

I set my glass on the marble end table and leaned back, inching my fingers up under my skirt a little further. I knew where I was headed, but the journey could take a million years for all I cared. I wasn't so much waiting for his call as I was enjoying the thick anticipation of "when."

When would he finally talk himself into taking that dangerous step? When would he be able to get that sexy ass of his over to my apartment? When would I be able to let him leave my snug embrace to slink back home to his "wife."

The large picture window in the living room afforded me a spectacular view of Manhattan. Miles of city lights and moving cars lay before me like a sequin dress shifting in a gentle breeze. I always imagined that a few of the closer buildings might contain a peering telescope or two, but this thought had never swayed me enough to invest in large window coverings. "Let them look," I always thought.

As I peeled back the hem of my skirt, the tops of my black stockings came into view. I always liked how thigh-highs made my legs look, especially where they ended. I sometimes wondered what a nice garter would do for me, hanging on tightly to my stocking tops, lest they fall, exposing my bare naked legs to the world. I never felt the need to try them, but suddenly I wanted to, wanted to stand before him in my stockings and a garter and nothing else. Fuck panties.

Mmmm, that was a scrumptious thought. I slipped my fingers over the gusset of my black silk Vickie Secret panties, and thought about how good just about anything in the world would feel sliding its way across my velvety crotch.

My libido was high, but not so high that I felt the need to really work myself over. It was more of a maintenance kind of touch. Keep the feelings up, keep the juices flowing, but not full open tap. It just felt nice to have a soft pressure against my moistening lips and to feel the gentle touch of silk on my pearly button.

I was reaching for my glass to take another drink as my phone rang.

And it rang deep; deep inside me.

It rang in my heart and in my hands, and the race of adrenaline almost knocked my glass to the floor.

Should I answer it . . .?

Or should I just set it to vibrate and hold it against me, letting him give me a secret thrill each time it buzzed as he tried to call me again and again.

I picked up the phone to look at it, it was Stacy.

"Hi Stace, how did it go?" I said into the oversized smart phone, which wore its own revealing slip case with an exposed belly, allowing my fingers to gently stroke its smooth glass, (stop it).

"It went fine, but I'm just leaving now," Stacy replied. "I don't know if we are going to win this one Grace."

"We'll win it," I soothed, "If those assholes on the defense don't find anything promising, they have no case." This was true, and I knew it. Being a junior partner meant that I had access to a plethora of information, and I usually got my fingers into most of our cases, the same way I was getting them into to the top of my own lacy case files at the moment.

"We better," said Stacy, "I'm done with these late-nighters. How do you do it all the time?"

"I have no social life Stace, you know that," I replied, and then dropped the bomb, "although I

did

give my number out on the way home today."

"You did?!?" Stacy was clearly surprised that I had actually spoken to a man. She knew I had sworn off of them lately, especially strangers and lawyers.

"Good god Stacy, he was gorgeous," I reminisced into the phone like it was years ago. "I'm sure he's married, but I don't fucking care."

"Oooh, you bad girl," Stacy suddenly shifted her tone from post-work ranting to vivid interest, "where did you meet him?"

"It was right on the sidewalk, just past Doreo's. I was just walking by . . ." my fingers started pulling up on the hair just above my clit, underneath my silky . . . what were those words again . . . fuck panties. Ok, I was in need of some serious help. "His eyes were on me Stace, you know, the way we want a sexy man's eyes to be on us, except his were searing and hungry. I ducked into some store full of knick knacks and shit, and he followed me right in."

"Holy shit Grace," breathed Stacy into my ear through the phone, "I can't believe it! So you just gave him your number?"

"It was either that or let him push himself into me right there in the store," I said, perhaps with a little too much obvious lust in my voice. Stacy is the only person in the world that I could talk to like this, as I was not a girl's girl. She and I had been through a lot though at our firm, and many long nights and drunken hazes had resulted in a deep and intimate friendship.

"Oh my god Grace," she exclaimed, coming to a full realization of the level of pressure I was cooking with. "Either he is there right now with his sexy face between your legs, or you're down there yourself, pretending he is. Naughty girl!"

"You know me too well Stace," I said as I ran my fingers across my open lips and felt the moisture that was starting to accumulate, "He's not here . . . yet. He hasn't called."

"Well maybe I should just let you get back to it then," Stacy said into my ear, and then lower, "unless you want me to tell you

exactly

what that gorgeous man is doing to you right now, with his face pressed up against your slippery . . . wet . . . pussy."

"Oh god Stace," I exhaled, knowing she had guessed correctly what I needed to hear right then, "now you are the one who is being bad."

"Am I now," she smiled through her voice, "I suppose I am, standing here in a quiet corner of the crowded train station like this, but are you even wearing panties right now?"

"Of course I am," I said, quickly pushing them down to my ankles, "I mean, not anymore."

"You little minx!" Stacy exclaimed, surprised at my anxiousness. "And now your furry kitten is out, isn't she?"

"Mmmhmmm"

And your fingers are down there pretending they're his, aren't they?"

"Mmmhmmm"

"And I suppose his gorgeous face is looking up at you from between your legs, while his fingers tease your slippery lips."

"Mmmmm, yes."

Then Stacy almost whispered directly into my hungry ear, her tone taking on a sexy lilt, "Well then, Grace, you just go ahead and let him push some of those long fingers right into you then. Let that man push inside you . . . yes . . . deeper Grace. Feel him pushing harder. His fingers are reaching, searching around for your sweet spot, making your pussy all wet for him."

"Oh god!" My brain froze in place, tossing logic through the large picture window as my arousal took over and I drank in Stacy's every tasty word, huffing breaths of arousal into the phone.

"But now he's pulling those dripping fingers out of there, and you want them to stay, don't you? You feel him drag his long delicious tongue across the top of your sexy clit. Just a little though, just a teasing, licking touch. He circles around it and drags that long tongue of his down your wet lips and back up, really rubbing on your sensitive clit this time. Wet little circles all around it."

"Oh, right there," I breathed heavily into the phone. I could actually feel his tongue instead of my wandering fingers between my legs, licking my inner thighs and teasing my buzzing clit.

"He pushes your legs wide so he can get a better view of that sexy bush Grace, it's soaking wet for him isn't it? It's ready to accept him, to let him push his heavy thickness inside you."

"Oh fuck," I was pushing into my hand across my sweaty mound, feeling that forgotten electric tingle that feeds upon itself, dragging my body up the side of Mt. Climax.

"That's it, he sees how wet and ready you are. He is staring right between your legs, his eyes devouring your sexy wetness, his breath caressing your tender lips. Suddenly he attacks your open pussy with his manly scruff and sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sliding his fat tongue up and down, turning your juices into liquid fire between your legs."

I could hear my own breath blowing across the microphone as my pulse quickened. What the hell was she doing to me? Her breathy words in my ear were making my head spin and I felt a wave of fresh fluid appear miraculously where there was plenty already. I wanted her to keep going, to keep feeding my mind with her whispery words of wanton suggestion.

"Again you feel his thick fingers spreading your lips apart, pushing into you and reaching achingly for something that isn't there. It's empty, and it needs to be filled. It needs to be filled with something strong and hard, pushing deeper, and then pulling back . . . pushing in . . . and pulling out. Can you feel his fingers in you Grace?"

"Oh my god I feel them Stace, they're in me!" I was sliding down an icy hill and pulling my legs up to help me gain speed. There was no turning back.

"Then fuck those fingers Gracey. Keep his mouth pressed on your clit and keep fucking those sexy fingers. You are getting close, aren't you? You are going to cum all over his manly face. Keep him going Grace, in and out of your slick wet pussy, let him fuck you down there. That's it. He's fucking you Grace, feel him."

"Holy shit!"

"Are you getting close?"

"YES"

"Faster Grace, he wants it! He'll fuck you. He'll even pull his gorgeous cock out of his pants so you can see it."

"Oh god Stacy!" I wailed.

"Look at his gorgeous cock, it's so hard for you. Let him put it in your mouth Gracey . . . suck on his perfect cock! That's it, suck it. Then let him slide it down and push that slippery cock right into you. Can you feel it, sliding into you? Oh it's so big, you could just cum all over it, right now!

"OH SHIT"

I couldn't believe she was actually doing this to me! My fingers in my pussy squeezed together to simulate a hard cock, and I pictured his naked body over mine, thrusting his arousal into my begging grasp. I could almost see his face as those piercing eyes of his had intercourse with mine and his fiery cock stretched my hungry cunt wider, slamming into me. Was Stacy even there?

"Keep fucking his big sexy cock Grace, that's it! Open wide so he can really fuck that wet pussy. Oh my GOD Grace! I think he's going to cum inside you! He can't hold back your pussy's so tight. Are you going to let this man fill you with his cum? His cock is full and it's still growing. Any second now . . . Feel it! Oh shit, he's jerking quickly now Grace!