Chapter 3: Defeat Fetish
Sasha drank three beers for nerves; Jeff drank one less for performance. Her head was warm and frothy as she led him to the apartment. She felt the gravity of his gaze on her shoulders as she fumbled for her keys. At the bar, he'd been a gentleman, rooted his eyes on her face. Now with her back turned, she knew he wouldn't be able to restrain himself. She was at once ample and slim in tight blouse and shorts.
"There." Sasha shot Jeff her best 'fuck me' glance (which hopefully wasn't a
complete
failure) and shoved the door open.
Before the door closed, she grabbed his tie-- unlike Sasha, Jeff did not change outfits from work—and pressed her lips deeply into his.
They made out for a bit. Lips loosening. Eventually his tongue ventured into her mouth. For a bit, Sasha's chest sparked. But soon she just felt her lips smacking his. Sensuality drained from the experience.
No, no. Want Jeff. Want him now.
Sasha leaned out of his kiss. His eyelids rose, his eyes flickering with disappointment.
"Bedroom?" Sasha suggested, the back of her knuckles trailing along Jeff's torso. He was slim, but she noticed a dense curve of pectoral. Maybe this could work.
"How do you like it?" Jeff asked as Sasha closed the bedroom door. He stood by the bed, wrangling his tie off his neck.
Sasha undid several buttons of her blouse. Jeff's jaw slackened at her boobs. Her bra hiked her cleavage, so that her chest beckoned his touch. "What does this make you want to do with me?"
"It makes me want—"Jeff undid his buttons as he approached her. She glimpsed his pecs and abs which were, surprisingly, quite impressive. Tan, with just a dusting of body hair. "—to do this." He slipped his hand into the small of her back and thrust her into him. He kissed and then bit her neck, her collarbone. Then lower. His hot breaths spread across her boobs.
"Oh Jeff," she moaned, barely even forcing herself.
Jeff sank to one knee, cupping Sasha's breasts in his hands. He sucked the slight bulge of her stomach. "Let's get the rest of this off." His hands lowered, sweeping first along Sasha's ribs, and then they came together at the last buttons on her shirt.
"Rip it off," breathed Sasha.
Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Uh... I don't—This is strong fabric, I don't know if I could—"
"Fine." Sasha closed her eyes. "Take it off."
He continued to kiss her stomach as he undid the last few buttons. He felt unusual, but warm and wet, and so Sasha decided she liked it.
They undressed each other, and greeted each inch of exposed skin with kisses and nibbles. Finally, they stood just in their underwear. Jeff's erection strained the waistline of his boxers. Sasha's breasts nearly burst from the bra. They kissed. Her nails into his back, his fingers in her hair. Heat gathered between them, then sweat.
"On the bed," growled Sasha.
"Anything you like." His voice was raspy with lust. It ran a chill up Sasha's arms.
Sasha stepped backward toward the bed, pulling Jeff by the wrists. "You want to know what I like?" she asked as she gently, gently rolled her fingertip over the head of his cock. Even through the underwear, the touch made him shiver. "Push me onto the bed."
"How—how hard?"
She grinned. "Take control, big boy."
Jeff's brow lowered. "As you wish."
Sasha closed her eyes, prepared for his push. His hands slammed against her shoulders. But it felt like pebbles tossed against a skyscraper. He lacked the strength even to disbalance her. The tingling between Sasha's legs dried as she feigned collapsing on the bed.
Jeff landed over her, one had on either side of her head. "How about we get this off your chest?"
Sasha bit her lip, grabbed the waistband of his boxers. "Yeah, it's just holding us back." Maybe he'd rip it up? Unchecked hope shot into expectation, so that she was disappointed when he crammed his hands between her back and the mattress to unhook the clasp. Still, it only took him a moment. She'd dealt with men who wrangled for minutes, refusing any assistance as if their masculinity depended on their mastery of women's underwear.
"Is everything okay?" Jeff asked.
"Huh? What?"
"You just seem... distracted?"
Sasha lifted her head, placed a kiss on Jeff's lips. "I'm just enjoying the moment."
"I am too." Jeff placed a hand over his penis. "In case that wasn't apparent."
Sasha ran a tongue over her lips. "Let's get these off." She yanked his underwear down to his thighs. His penis was large, so erect that it twitched with each breath. A bead of precum glinted with a tiny reflection of moonlight.
"What do you think?"
Sasha nodded. "I think that will do."
Jeff laughed. Then kissed her. For a while, he supported himself over her. When his arms grew tired, and when he assumed they'd warmed up enough, he lowered himself to lay over her, his ever-growing penis grinding against her underwear.
"Do you want me to go down on you?" Jeff breathed, just after licking her ear. It made it feel as though her eardrum was moist with condensation.
"Uh..."
"Or straight to sex?"
"You'll have to properly undress me first."
"Of course."
Jeff grabbed the panties on both sides of her hips. He paused, kneeling over her with lowered head.
"What is it?"
"I've just thought about this moment for a long time."
"Oh..."
"Sorry. Sorry." Jeff shook his head. "Maybe a bit weird. I just— I'm just a man, and you're very—"
"No more talking," Sasha teased. "Let's stick to sex."
Jeff lowered her panties, then crawled back up her body to kiss her.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Mmm... A little more of this." She kissed deeply, tongue plunging into his mouth.
After minutes of kissing and intense concentration, Sasha managed to become aroused. Just a bit, unfortunately, but enough to get started.
"Okay," she moaned into his mouth. "Okay. Take me."
"Yes." He placed a hand at the base of his penis, angling himself. The tip gently parted Sasha's labia, and then pressed into her vagina. For a moment or two, it felt great. Nerves crackling, demanding more and becoming needier with each thrust. But, three shoves later, she felt lifeless. Like a receptacle for his body.
Sasha flung her arms over her head. "Pin me down while you fuck me."
Jeff obliged, grabbing Sasha's wrists and digging her arms into the comforter.
It worked.
But only for a moment. Sasha knew she could flip him off with little more energy than it took to yawn. His hold felt immaterial, as if he weren't fucking her at all. She might as well be masturbating against the air.
"Talk dirty," begged Sasha.
"Yes." He rasped clichés against her ear. They failed to arouse her.
Come on.
Sasha begged herself, growing drier with each breath.
Come on. Enjoy this
. But she couldn't. This flimsy man rubbing his thin body against her, breathing like an ox. She wasn't just bored; the first tendrils of shame slid into her chest.
No. No. Enjoy this.
Sasha clamped her eyes shut, begged herself to become aroused. She searched her imagination, her memory, for anything that might help.
And, of course, she landed on Blitz.
Their third fight. The most humiliating beatdown yet.
It was dusk. The sky was a nuclear orange that burnt the face of the hotel, and glistened on the marble balcony where Blitz had bound his hostages. Bluebird watched the victims from the roof. Crouched behind the vent, she couldn't see Blitz as he paced before his victims. But she heard his voice, deep and resonant with quiet authority. Despite herself, she quaked in her boots, heels grinding into the gravelly tarmac. For a moment, she felt so chilled that she wished she hadn't agreed to assist the police in their operation. Breathing slowly and running her knuckles along her legs, she managed to gather courage. In just a few moments, she would leap and a large part of her hoped she'd save them before Blitz noticed.
Her signal arrived: the distant growl of a helicopter, and a voice on a loudspeaker. "
Blitz we are willing to negotiate your demands."
"Stay put," Blitz ordered the hostages. Still, Bluebird could not see him. She stood and, while Blitz walked to the other arm of the wrap-around balcony, Bluebird marched to the edge of the roof.
The first of the hostages to notice her was a maid, a blonde woman with wide cheekbones and accentuated eyelashes. "Look!" she gasped.
Bluebird's blood stopped, afraid that her cover was blown. She could almost feel Blitz's steely knuckles deep in her abdomen. She wanted to cry. Instead, she maintained a stony expression and raised a finger to her lips. The maid nodded, then nudged her neighbors with her toes. Bluebird waited until she'd met each of their eyes, then jumped.
"Blitz's minions are in the living room," Bluebird whispered as she knelt before the hostages. They were tied by wrist and waist to the railing of the balcony. "Go through the kitchen, then down Stairwell A. SWAT's holding it."
"They don't speak English," said the maid.
"What?" Bluebird turned to the other hostages. They were the Casals, an old money Spanish family, each with the same tan complexion and bumped nose bone. Even in their casual wear, they wore textured perfume. They exuded royalty, and their demeanor betrayed no confusion. "Shit. I don't have time to—"
"Don't worry, Bluebird," said the maid. "I'll explain while you—"
"Thank you." The voice on the loudspeaker appeared to grow fainter as the helicopter drew closer. Bluebird hadn't much time. She yanked the rope, testing the strength of its fibers. They were tough and tightly woven, but she didn't expect much difficulty.
"This could lead to some scratches and bruising," Bluebird warned. The maid translated. The family nodded. "Good."
Bluebird pulled. The steel stretched, but wouldn't yield. "Hurry up," she begged herself as sweat dotted her forehead and arms. "Hurry up." She gripped more and more tightly, until the rope cleaved her palms and her biceps screamed from the strain. The rope didn't give. "Come on!" Bluebird growled. Her teeth clenched so tightly she imagined them tearing into her jaw.
"Mujer débil," mumbled the Casal patriarch. Bluebird recognized the phrase.
Weak woman.
"Don't you dare!" snapped the maid.
But the fire of indignation fueled Bluebird. With a final scream, she rent the rope in two. Dozens of fibers flayed across the air, some scratching Bluebird's eyelids. The Casals were free. Still bound together, sure, but no longer tethered to the railing.
"Now
go
