Across the Breezeway

Part 3

As Darla creeps her Hyundai behind the SUV in front of her she mentally calls herself an idiot. She hopes she hasn't buzz-killed the sexy mood with Vincent by saying what she'd said. Does Vincent remember that when she'd told him about the time she'd done it with Hakeem and the other two guys her telling him that Hakeem had told her to beg each of them to use her to come in? And now she'd just told Vincent she wanted him to use her to come in. Did he remember that she'd told him she'd said that before, to Hakeem and his friends?

Shit.

Despite her apprehension about what Vincent might be thinking, and though she has just played with herself and given herself an orgasm delicious enough to make her squirt, her pussy is still hungry. Darla knows the reason is twofold, because of this new experience driving while naked in a snowstorm for her lover Vincent, and because of her memory of that weekend from over a year ago. Though it's comfortably warm in her Santa Fe, she shudders as another one of those quivers between her legs vibrates out from the core of her womanhood and electrifies her body.

Yep, her pussy is still hungry.

She needs Vincent.

"Still cooking?" she says.

"Nah, it's just simmering now, waiting for you to get here," Vincent replies.

Darla is relieved that he sounds okay. "I'm simmering too, Daddy."

"Nice. I'm trying to decide if I want to come in your mouth, your pussy, or your ass."

His words make her quiver again, so hard it's almost painful, and elicits and "Ooh, shit!" from her. Still, because he mentioned the various ways he might use her, she wonders if he's thinking about what she told him about that weekend with Hakeem and two of his friends, about how they had all used her at the same time, had filled her everywhere at once and made her come so hard she'd fainted.

"It's all yours and we have all weekend," Darla says. "You said I'm supposed to be naked until I go to work Monday, remember?"

"I definitely remember. It's already getting dark. If it wasn't for this storm, when you get here I'd have you leave your clothes in your ride and come up here wearing nothing. But I don't want you getting frostbite."

She hasn't been naked outside for Vincent, well not technically, unless she wants to count him fucking her and her sucking him off on their balconies. And her going to and from her apartment to Vincent's apartment naked on the covered breezeway that's more like a hallway open at both ends happens so often it feels normal. Vincent has told her that that's not going to change even when they have new neighbors in the other two apartments on the third floor, unless the new neighbors have kids.

"You know I'll do whatever you want," she says.

"I know."

Vincent does know. On that day three months ago, as they'd discussed their sexual preferences and then their most recent sexual encounters, after she'd told him about Hakeem, and in the interest of full disclosure, as she'd told him about that particular weekend in which she'd fulfilled one of her wildest and hottest fantasies, she hadn't been sure if he would be turned off by it, maybe thought she was someone he wouldn't want to be involved with. And then Vincent had asked her if what she'd done with Hakeem was something she'd want to do again. Trying to be honest, the best answer she could give him was to ask him if he thought it was possible to regret doing something while you were doing it, but at the same time love it because it was the best sex of your life.

She thought she'd blown it with Vincent then, one, because she hadn't been able to give him a definitive "no" about whether she'd want to do what she'd done with Hakeem (and his friends) again, and two, because what man wants to have to try to compete with a woman telling him that a past experience was the best sex she'd ever had? But Vincent had only said, "So you're submissive." It wasn't a question.

"I don't know about that," she'd said, because she didn't. At least not then.

"You are," Vincent had said. "What you did with Hakeem and his friends turned you on because you felt like the decision to do it was his, not yours. That's what flipped your switch, the feeling that someone else had control over your body, not you. But you're the one who willingly gave up your control. You gave him the power over you to turn your fantasy into reality. I think while it was happening, you probably got off on feeling you were owned as much as what it felt like to be with three dudes at once, getting triple-penetrated. That's why it was the best sex of your life, because you were being what you need to be, which is submissive."

In that moment, before she and Vincent had even had sex for the first time, she'd realized that he was a man she could possibly fall in love with. Because she was a sexual being, she knew about the varied lifestyles, from people who had plain vanilla sex only on Saturday nights to the most extreme forms of BDSM. She knew about domination and submission, about being a baby girl or a little for a Daddy, about being a slave for a master. For whatever reason she had never considered herself submissive, but when Vincent said it, it was like the light of realization had brightened and shone on the truth of who and what she truly was, and what she needed to be. Vincent had seen that in her when she hadn't seen it in herself. He understood her. He understood what she needed to be. And so she'd thought he might be a man she could love.

The road signs are blanketed with snow and unreadable, but muscle memory allows Darla to approximate where she is on the Beltway. She's almost where 495 merges with I-95. When traffic stops again she needs to get some clothes on. She tells Vincent so.

"Go ahead," he says. "I'm getting off the phone so you can focus on driving, and so I can figure out what I'm going to do with you when you get here."

"Yes, Daddy," Darla says. "I can't wait to see you."

As Darla ends the call and places her phone back in the cupholder traffic stops again. She unfastens her seatbelt, grabs Vincent's football jersey and worms herself into it in a hurry. As she refastens her seatbelt, though Vincent is no longer on the phone, she misses being undressed for him even though they are miles apart, because it's the way he prefers her to be. No, the way he requires her to be, and therefore she needs to be.

Because she

is

submissive.

She realizes now that Hakeem saw that in her too, though he never spoke the specific words. He just took control and used her however he wanted, as he had from the first time they were together.

Though Darla had never thought about Hakeem being an alpha personality and a dominant while she was seeing him, he was, and in retrospect, thanks to Vincent recognizing her for who she is, she knows that was what had appealed to her about Hakeem. Even that first time they met in person after four months of first emailing, then texting, then sexting, then video sexting, he had exerted his dominance over her, and she had accepted it, had been turned on by it. Hakeem lives in Connecticut, and she lives in Maryland, and for their first meeting he had suggested they split the driving difference and meet at a hotel in New Jersey. And then he'd told her what he wanted to happen during their first face-to-face meeting.

A part of her had been insulted by his suggestion that was actually a subtle demand, and she'd said, "You have got to be joking." But even before he'd said what he said next, the thought of doing what he wanted her to do had generated a quivering hunger in the part of herself she loved most.

Then Hakeem said, "I'm dead serious. It'll be fun, and I think if you think about it, you really want to do it. And to prove to you I'm not trying to play you, I'm going to send you a round trip ticket to fly up here the following weekend, and I'm going to send it to you before we meet in Jersey."

Hakeem was true to his word. He sent her a round trip ticket to come to him in Connecticut for their second meeting, and so for their first meeting she did what he wanted. And as it turned out, she wanted it too. It had been one of the hottest experiences of her life, up to that point.

For their first meeting Hakeem had wanted her to drive to New Jersey to meet him wearing a specific ensemble. After she'd agreed to do it despite her fear, he'd ordered the clothes (such as they were) he wanted her to wear online and had them shipped to her: a translucent pink baby doll negligee, matching crotchless G-string panties, and three-inch black leather pumps under a knee-length London Fog trench coat. Wearing the gear for him hadn't been a problem for her since he'd already seen her naked via video chat and in a bunch of selfies she'd sent him once they got to know each other and had decided they wanted to fuck. What had set her nerves on edge was that he'd wanted her to wear it on her drive up and not bring any other luggage.

Hakeem paid for the hotel room, and when she arrived he was already there, in the room waiting for her. Per his instructions, after her three-hour drive from Laurel, Maryland to Southern New Jersey, as soon as she entered the suite she took off the trench coat. Per his instructions, she did not speak a word, nor did he to her, as he took her hand and led her to the hotel room sofa. He had already moved the coffee table away from the sofa to make room. He sat on the middle of the sofa and spread his legs. She got down on her knees between his legs, opened his slacks, and because he wasn't wearing underwear, lifted his hard dick out easily. There had been no surprises there. She had seen his manhood via video chat. She had been impressed and anxious to have his ten inches in the flesh, in every sense of the word. Except for that first meeting, all she had been allowed to do was suck him off, no hands, only mouth.

She took her time making him feel good, teasing him, edging him, taking all his ten inches into her mouth and throat, making it last for nearly an hour before she allowed him to come. Hakeem's rule for that first get-together was that they would not speak to each other, but after she'd used her mouth, lips, and tongue to give him what she'd promised would be the best blowjob of his life, as he'd shuddered like he was freezing and exploded in her mouth and she'd gulped him down greedily, he'd gripped her hair like he needed to hang on for dear life and growled, "Damn baby!"

Well, she had warned him that she could work magic with her mouth.

She'd kept him in her mouth, sucking him for a little while until his post-come sensitivity made him too uncomfortable. Then she'd stopped sucking him but kept him in her mouth and continued to worship him with her tongue. She was orally skilled enough that it didn't take him too long to get hard again. The second time she hadn't teased or edged him. She'd sucked him like she was starving and his cum was the only available food to eat. Even though he'd just come a giant load, she got him off again in under fifteen minutes.

Because she hadn't lied about being able to work magic with her mouth.

After she'd swallowed what Hakeem had to give a second time, she went back to following his instructions. Without speaking a word to him, she got up from between his legs, shrugged back into the trench coat he'd bought her, left the hotel, and drove back home to Maryland.

Driving back home her pussy had been on fire and she'd needed relief so badly, but Hakeem had made her promise to save it until she flew up to Connecticut to be with him the following weekend.

Thinking back as she drove through the snowstorm, Darla recalls that the wait had been well worth it. Hakeem fucked like he was angry, and so by the time her weekend with him was over she'd felt like a wet rag that had been squeezed out hard and left hanging limp. She'd been battered and sore. She wasn't into pain, but this was the good kind of pain, the tenderness of the flesh after a good fuck, and on her flight home she'd fondly relived in her memory how Hakeem had pounded screaming orgasms out of her when he'd used her pussy and her ass. He'd pounded her and made her tell him her pussy and ass belonged to him--that she belonged to him--and that had made it even hotter. On her flight home she'd already been looking forward to being with him again.

The 495 leg of the Beltway was the problem. Once it merges with I-95 South, traffic moves at a decent pace, all things considered. Some knuckleheads are even driving like they think it's a cloudless spring day. But it's after 6:00pm and dark now, and the snow isn't letting up, is in fact attacking the world with even greater fury, as if now that she is getting close to home the storm is a boxer throwing hard, desperate punches, trying to score a knockout before the final bell ends the fight.

Darla yearns to be safely at home--well, in Victor's apartment. She yearns to be in his arms, cuddled up on his sofa as maybe they eat his homemade chili from the same bowl. Maybe he'll spoon-feed her because she's his baby girl, his precious pet, feeds her while they watch television...

...No, that's not what she wants. What she wants is Vincent inside her, fucking her deliciously that way he does, the way he always seems to know what her body needs when it needs it. Vincent understands that despite what most young men seem to think, a woman doesn't always want to have her back blown out. Many of those guys who think that are one-trick ponies. Hakeem was kind of a one-trick pony, even though he was an amazing fuck. And he'd given her that experience she would never forget.

Thinking back to that experience, Darla wishes now that she'd been brave enough to take Hakeem's suggestion and let another friend of his record what they'd done. But at the time the thought had horrified her. It was one thing to pump up her courage enough to experience what she had always only previously thought would be her freakiest, sexiest fantasy. When she and Hakeem had been discussing their fantasies and she'd told him about her hottest and most decadent fantasy, rather than judge her, he'd simply said, "Maybe we'll make that happen one day."

She'd laughed his comment off. She hadn't thought he was serious. A few months later, during the week of her birthday, it happened. Hakeem told her it would be her birthday present from him. There had probably been hundreds of times between when Hakeem told her and that weekend when she would drive up to Connecticut to him to have the experience that she'd thought about telling him she didn't want to do it, that her being with more than one guy in bed was too much. A part of her didn't want to, but another part of her, the part that drove her sexuality, was the bigger part of who she had been...okay, of who she was. Still, the thought of someone video recording it had been too much.

As the memory of that weekend begins to cue itself up, Darla pushes it out of her mind. She's with Vincent now, and she's happy. Still, she wishes she'd had the courage to do what Hakeem had suggested and have another friend of his--a woman--record the experience that had been the best sex of her life. She'd always liked making videos of herself and her lover. But back then the thought of having evidence of her committing such sexual debauchery, even if it was only recorded on her phone the way Hakeem suggested, had terrified her. What if she lost her phone? What if some phone company geek hacked into her data and stole the video and posted it for the world to see? And who the hell was this woman to Hakeem that he could have her record a sex video of him?

Now she wished she had a video of the experience. If just remembering it got her hot, what effect would seeing it on video have on her?

"Is it good, baby?

"Yes, Daddy....so good..."

"Don't tell me, tell them. Tell them their dicks feel good in your pussy and ass."

She had told them, had called each by his name and told him his...

Stop thinking about that.

She was with Vincent now. She hadn't seen or spoken to Hakeem for several months before she met Vincent. Vincent knew about Hakeem, and she'd told him about that weekend when she'd lived out her raunchiest sexual fantasy, but she hadn't gone into detail about the experience. She hadn't been sure how much Vincent wanted to hear, and he didn't ask for details. He'd only suggested that she was a submissive after she'd told him that experience was the best sex of her life.

What if she'd had a video of that experience to show him? Would he want to see it? She had some pics and a couple videos of her past experiences, one going back to when she was in college. After telling Vincent she had them she'd asked him if he wanted to see them. He'd said, "If you want to show me." A part of her didn't want to. The bigger part of her did. It wasn't just her imagination that after showing Vincent her sex pics and videos their sex, which was always great, had been better than usual. Though he hadn't said so, her pics and videos had turned him on.

Darla realizes that she's been so deep in the pool of her memories that she's been driving on autopilot, and almost misses her exit on I-95 for Laurel. She manages to make the exit with a minimum of skidding on the snowy roadway.

Now she is just a few minutes from home--well, from Vincent's apartment. She has no intention of going into her own apartment until Sunday night, two nights from now, when she'll need to get ready for work on Monday morning.

She decides that Vincent's chili is going to have to wait. She needs him so bad.

She needs him now.

(To be continued)