Ravage

Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Carter

Ravage is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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The world was my oyster.

From London to Tokyo, New York to Sidney.

Five-star hotels, private jets, nothing was off limits.

I flew wherever I wanted. I fucked whomever I wanted.
Money was no object, and neither was my choice of pussy.

While the faces changed as quickly as the destinations, only the rules remained the same.

No numbers, no emotions, no sexual limits, no further contact and definitely no relationships.

It worked, and you could say for a time, everything was fucking awesome, until New Year’s Eve.

***

“All flights have been delayed until tomorrow due to the storm. We are sorry for the inconvenience and we hope to…” the rest of the words became a blur as the reality of spending New Year’s Eve stuck in the armpit of America sunk in like the hideous third cup of coffee that I had just downed.

You’ve got to be fucking joking!

An hour earlier I’d been riding a red eye flight back to New York from China and the heaviest thing on my mind was the decision of spending the New Year entangled between one or two hot brunettes that I was supposed to meet the moment I stepped off the plane.

Fuck it, everything was arranged
.
The thought of not being able to indulge in that hot bit of ass, and have her mouth willingly slide over my cock was brutal
.
It was all planned out. My personal assistant had booked a table at my favorite steakhouse restaurant, we’d return to my penthouse suite at the Four Seasons, and then wouldn’t leave for several days.  I would spend hours teasing her, her wrists tied to the bed with silky scarlet ties, flicking the tip of her clit with my tongue, withholding her from the most intense pleasure over and over again, only to devour her pussy until she screamed out through multiple orgasms.

My cock twitched at the thought. I sighed pushing the image of her innocent tight ass from my mind. I shifted in my seat; my body ached from the hard plastic. Gazing around the waiting room, I wondered if the shit storm has blown inside as it was cold, and a far cry from the VIP lounges that I was used to. Spoiled or not, there was no denying that once you’d tasted the finer things in life, anything less was hard to get used to.

I now sat sandwiched between a traveling salesman on my right who was overweight, wheezing his guts out and bordering on an early heart attack, and an elderly gentleman to my left who coughed repeatedly in my direction.

Shit, cover your mouth!

I wouldn’t mind it if it was an international airport, as at least there I was treated like a king, but Morgantown Municipal Airport? Are you kidding me? Obviously catering to celebs, executives and well-to-do folks was at the bottom of their priority list. Everyone convened in the same area, the coffee tasted like dirt, and the food might as well have been served with a side platter of puke.

Another cough in my face, and I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand another minute. I closed my notebook and make a beeline for the only bar in the place called The Last Round Bar & Grill.

It never changed, and this night was no exception. Once again a long parade of guys ogled my breasts as I served them drinks. The younger ones took turns dishing out cheesy pickup lines and the married ones pocketed their wedding bands, as if the glaring pale white band beneath wasn’t a dead giveaway. I wasn’t sure what turned me off most, the fact that they thought that getting into a bartenders pants was part of their order, or that they lied through their teeth. They all seemed so desperate, needy and unattractive. Nevertheless I gave them my wicked smile, and leaned over just a little more. I knew how to get the tips, if nothing else. Truth was I had yet to meet a man who stood out, and while I had a few men pass through the airport that had caught my eye. It was going to take a bit more than a few pickup lines for one of them to find their way into my divine virgin pussy.

I slid a beer in front of a guy with mustard on his tie. I wondered if he knew what a state he looked. It seemed as if style went out the window when people flew.

“There we go,” I said sliding a napkin beneath it. His eyebrows arched as he slid his finger up the glass catching some of the head that had spilled over.

“So when do you get off work?”

I tried to look busy but I could see his reflection gawking at me in the bar mirror. I was due to take my break, but I wasn’t going tell him that. He needed a shower, a face-lift and a major fashion overhaul before I would have given him a second look. Instead I turned giving him a cute smile, “Oh not for hours, I just started my shift,”

“Shame,” he took his drink and walked off. I chuckled to myself. Those were the easy ones. Most didn’t let up. Being propositioned was common. After working in four bars, I’d learned to navigate the pushy ones from those who just wanted someone to talk to. I couldn’t help wonder what was going through their minds? Did they really all think I was going to take them out back and let them fuck me over the counter, one after the other? I ran my fingers over my lips contemplating what that would be like. I shook my head. It’s not I wouldn’t have minded a hard cock in the backroom or even having two men taking turns, I’d entertained that thought countless times, but… I’d always imagined my first time being something more, something a little bit classier, even if it did mean being tied up all night long. Tied up? An image of finding my brother’s porno magazines under his mattress reignited my senses. It had been the first time I’d seen a women hog-tied and the first time I’d seen cock. . I remembered how wet my panties became as I flipped through the pages. Finding those magazines opened my eyes to the possibilities. It had awakened a deep desire inside, a need to have a man touch and experience every part of me.

I sighed, casting a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no glasses were empty. I knew that at nineteen, I was one of the few who still hadn’t had sex. Nineteen years was a long time to have gone without sex, but it wasn’t by choice. It was no thanks to my parents who had raised me to be a staunch catholic. After leaving home at eighteen, I couldn’t wait to let go of all the rules and regulations and figure out who I was for myself. It’s not that I minded rules, but if I had to abide by any, they had better be ones that made me feel alive.

“Mam,” a deep, husky voice behind me snapped me back to the present moment.

“Be right there,” I continued cleaning up the mess of a third drink that I had spilled that night. The water dripped off the edge onto my black skirt, and I searched for anything dry to wipe it off.

“Mam,”

“I said I would be right there.” I spun around and froze on the spot at the sight of a gorgeous tall, broad shouldered man. He had a defined jawline, a perfect five o’clock shadow and deep brown eyes that you could get lost in for days. His hair was tidy, stylish but masculine in every way. The kind you could run your fingers through. It took me a few seconds to register that I was staring, and a few seconds longer to pick my jaw up off the floor.

“Thought this might help,” he held out a handful of napkins.

“Right. Um. Thanks.” I took them and began wiping myself down. I was intently aware that he was watching. I lifted my eyes for a brief moment and flashed him an awkward smile.

“Here’s some more,” He leaned over the counter, and without even given a thought to the fact that I was bending down and probably giving the entire room a clear shot of my C-cup breasts, I reached for them and felt his fingers brush the back of my hand. There was something different to him. Despite the obvious that he was drop dead gorgeous, he wasn’t magnetically focused in on my tits, his eyes were fixed on mine. Then of course there was the fact that he was wearing a slim fitting designer suit. Armani? Gucci? Had to have been expensive as it looked tailored, brand new and free of lint. Unlike the Neanderthals who frequented the bar on any given day, their suits hung from them like a kid in an oversized jacket, and they usually were covered in a stain or two.  I shivered, not even wanting to think what those might have been.

As I finished wiping myself down, he took a seat, sliding his jacket off. I caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled woodsy, spicy and warm like being surrounded by a forest of oak.

“What can I get you?” I muttered out, double-checking my words mentally just in case I sounded like a mental patient that just had a lobotomy.

“What have you got on tap?”

I reeled off a few domestic and imported beers, and recommend a couple.

“Sounds good, you choose for me.”

“You want me to choose?”

“Yeah, surprise me.”

“Ok,” I said, then bit my bottom lip, an action that caught his attention as he zeroed in on my mouth before glancing away. As he took in his surroundings I took advantage of the moment to steal a glance and get a better look at him. It was obvious he worked out as his shirt bulged in all the right areas. I imagined him jogging, lifting weights and dripping with sweat. There was nothing more attractive to her than a man who took pride in the way he looked. A guy who didn’t take his body for granted but shaped, honed and developed that meat suit until it screamed sex. As she gave him his glass, he slid over a hundred-dollar bill.

“Keep the change.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Your drink was not even six bucks?”

“I know.”

Before I could register the huge tip he interjected.

“By the way, isn’t this place meant to have WIFI?”

“Yes, it does over there.” I pointed to a corner of the bar. He followed my gaze and frowned noticing the huddle of businessmen looking cramped in a tiny corner. He stared down at his phone, and held it up.

“Surely you don’t just get it over there?”

I cocked my head to one side. “I know, it’s weird but it’s something to do with the reach of the signal.”

At least that’s what I remembered my boss saying.

I served another drink to a customer, keeping an eye on him as he wandered over there, raising his phone in the air. Within a few seconds he was back again.

“Well you might want to tell management that their WIFI sucks, I’ve never seen anything like that.”

I smiled. “You should visit the washrooms; the hand dryers are located outside of the building.”

His eyed widened with a look of horror.

“I’m kidding.” I flung a cloth over my shoulder not thinking for a moment how it looked.

“Calling home?”

“Trying to make sleeping arrangements for tonight.”

“The waiting area not satisfactory?” she smirked.

“Not unless you want to be sandwiched between Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

“Who?”

“Ah never mind. Does this place have a hotel?”