Surprise (2 page)

A tall, curvaceous woman with a mane of orange hair strolled out on stage in time to the music. She slinked out into the darkness beneath her blue cowboy hat and fringe of wispy bangs as she struck the pink palm of her hand with a riding crop. Luke was awestruck. He'd never seen anyone like her before in his life. She was shapely in all the right places, her breasts strained against her white denim top and the underside curve of her ass peeped out from beneath her matching cutoff denim shorts.

The cowgirl paced suggestively in front of the stage, staring out at her faceless audience with eyes that assured a plethora of unspoken promises. Her hips swayed from side to side, she knew their hypnotic effect. Then she gave a smile that felt as though it was intended just for him (although he was smart enough to know better) and used a step stool to climb up on the mechanical bull. When she swung a leg over to straddle the machine, he thought he caught a glimpse of her pussy, but it was so quick he couldn't discount the thought that he'd imagined it. Still, his cock throbbed in his jeans.

The evocative song continued to float out from the speakers overhead, and the mechanical bull began to rock forward and backward slowly. The redhead rocked with it, her hips gyrating with the mechanized beast. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and with a curve to her lips, hit the side of the leather with her riding crop. The machine didn't increase speed, but the move was effective just the same. Luke gratefully downed another shot that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

The redhead slid the riding crop through one of the belt loops of her shorts and her hands went to her chest. Her head fell back and her long hair brushed against the small of her back as she kneaded her breasts through the denim fabric in time to the movements of the mechanical bull. Luke's mouth went dry as the heels of her blue cowboy boots dug into the side of the bull, which she gripped with her thighs as it rotated, giving Luke and the rest of the audience, which he had completely forgotten about, a 180-degree view of the most unforgettable sight he'd ever seen.

Then, as if in slow motion, the redhead began to tug open the metal buttons of her shirt, one by one, starting first with the buttons at her throat and working down to her navel. She pulled the shirt open, revealing a heavy-looking turquoise necklace hanging in the valley of her creamy white breasts and brightly rouged nipples. She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, briefly pinning her arms behind her as she did so, and Luke clamped his teeth down on his lower lip to prevent himself from groaning aloud. She tossed the shirt on the floor and her fingers went back to her breasts as she continued to ride the bull, her fingers plucking her nipples to life.

Her ride picked up speed, and she rocked harder against it. With one hand on her breast, her other slid down her stomach and teasingly dipped inside the front of her shorts, only to move back up her body again. Luke cracked his knuckles in anticipation and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as her hand traveled back down to her shorts again to undo the button and ease down the zipper at an excruciatingly slow pace. The smile on her face assured her audience that she knew exactly what she was doing to every one of them.

A graceful hand disappeared inside her zipper and her eyes fluttered closed. Luke watched, hypnotized, as her fingers moved beneath the white denim, rubbing circles over her clit. She leaned forward a little and let out a moan, leaving him to assume that she'd pushed a finger inside herself. He licked his dry lips as he watched her rock back and forth against her hand while letting out soft groans, not unlike a siren's song.

The mechanical bull slowed to the point where she could pull herself up and kneel on the leather seat. Maintaining her balance, she inched the denim shorts down over her hips and thighs, revealing her smooth, shapely ass and a tangle of coppery hair between her legs. Aside from her boots and her hat, she was now completely nude. Luke wiped his hot face with his hands and drew in a gulp of air as he shifted in his seat, his cock erect to the point of agony. He stared as she once again straddled the bull, wishing that he were the leather saddle between her milky thighs. She leaned back with a smile and gave the audience a full view of her pussy, weeping on the leather. Luke bit down on his hand as his toes curled inside his boots, half afraid he was going to pass out.

The redhead grasped onto what Luke had initially assumed was the horn of the saddle, but now he saw that it was, in fact, a thick, leather dildo. His lips parted in a silent groan as he watched her inch forward and position herself over it. Then she sank down slowly, inch by inch, letting out a breathy, extended gasp of pleasure. The music came to a stop and the only sounds that filled the room were her whimpers and the creaking of the mechanical bull as it picked up speed.

She gripped onto the machine with her knees as she rose up and dropped down on the dildo again. Her motions increased as she moved in time to the rocking of the bull, which continued to spin in a lazy circle, giving the audience a complete view from all angles of the dildo pushing into her wet pussy. Luke could only imagine what it'd be like to have her ride him like that, and without even thinking about it, his hand dropped to the front of his pants where his cock was throbbing beneath the denim. Even that slight contact caused a shiver of gratification and relief to ripple through him.

The redhead's hands went to her breasts again and she pinched her rosy nipples to life, her moans and mumblings escalating with every downward thrust. She came down hard, pressing her clit against the seat and gyrating her hips, making sure to have plenty of contact with the leather. Finally, she grabbed onto the front of the seat, giving herself enough leverage to fuck the dildo with an intensity that surprised Luke. With her back arched and her head thrown back she let out a final scream of pleasure as her thighs shook and dug into the side of the mechanical bull. She remained frozen in that position, as if to savor the moment as completely as she could. Goosebumps appeared on her breasts and arms. The leather dildo was slick with her juices.

Then the spotlight disappeared, plunging the room back into total darkness. Luke swallowed a few times, his mouth dry. When the houselights rose after a few minutes, he could see that the cowgirl was gone and that he was surrounded by a bar crowded with men he'd never heard creep in. All of them looked silent and ashamed, yet satisfied. Luke knew he wore a similar expression on his own face. Then he noticed the stickiness clinging to the hair on his thighs and realized that he had come right in his jeans, without ever being touched, something that hadn't occurred since he was about fourteen.

He stood on shaking legs and not caring what the other patrons thought of his current state, made his way out the door to his dusty truck. His brain foggy and his mouth cottony, he felt much drunker than he was, and paused to take a few deep breaths after he slid behind the wheel. He rested his face against the window and squeezed his eyes shut, letting the impact of the evening sink in. He wondered how Tad ever managed to come into work the next day after witnessing what he'd seen that night.

There was a rapping at the window. When he looked up, he saw it was the redhead, now fully dressed in tight jeans and a flannel shirt. Her orange hair, backlit by the lights of the parking lot, hung around her shoulders in waves. She wore the smile of someone who had just been fucked into nirvana. He rolled down the window and she said, “I'm sorry to ask this of you, but my ride left me. Could you give me a lift? It's just a few miles east.”

“Sure,” Luke replied with bridled enthusiasm. He reached over to unlock the passenger door as she ran around to the other side of the car and wrenched open the door. She swung herself up into the truck and the cab was suddenly filled with her energy. Luke gripped the wheel in an effort to avoid reaching out to touch her.

“Thanks a lot,” she said. “I don't mean to be a pest, but you looked like you wanted to leave and didn't seem too drunk, so…”

“It's alright,” he croaked, as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“Well, I appreciate it.” The redhead flipped down the visor to inspect her makeup and a photograph wafted down into her lap. She picked it up and inspected it. “Very cute.” She flipped it over. “So is this Mary your girlfriend?”

Luke plucked the photograph out of the redhead's hands and let it float out his open window. “Mary who?”

 

 

 

 

We are the filthy new romantics, looking down on the city of love from an iron tower beneath a Monet sky, my hands hard on your 1950's hips and my lips to your right ear, whispering.

“Let me fuck you here, fuck you above Paris where anyone looking up can see us.”

You hold the railing in your fragile hands and push back from the edge, the gently swaying metal pushing movement through your feet and up to your twitching knees. I feel you squish back against me and edge my hips forward, resting my tight balls against the small of your back, on the upper slope of your Bardot ass which flexes and softens against me.

“You can drive me later,” you say, quickly glancing back at me with those castle-sieging, stone-grey eyes, your hair flicking across my mouth, (your voice becoming a whisper as men in unbuttoned shirts walk behind us, coughing) “if I can wait, the front of my dress is already heavy.”

I am completely undone by your words and move my hands around your waist, tracing the buried elastic edge of your panties with my fingertips until they plump up against your rise. Damp heat soaks all the way through the cotton of your dress as I fan my hands down into your protected creases, pushing your barely found lips together and then dragging them slightly apart, tensing the material of your underwear.

“Why can't I have you when I need you most?” I pant into your ear as you purr like an electric kitten, the smell of your hair and neck filling my head, cocoa and butter and Cabernet. I am drooling on you, leaving glistening strands in your raven-wing hair, you are my futuristic Anna Karina swaying and pushing atop this monument to death. You slowly lift and collapse an arm behind your own shoulder, drag your Merlot nails across my open mouth and heavy tongue, then snake your arm out, down and back between us, making a tiny fist that pushes into the top of my trousers, behind the belt-buckle, before opening up and slathering my head with saliva from your fingers.

“Slow down, move down,” I gasp, not wanting my
petit mort
to take me too soon. “Don't spoil your surprise.”

Your slick fingers slip slowly, wetly down my erection, your touch light and agonizing.

Pulling my face from the heady tangles of you, I lean forward and look over the chipped metal railing to the scene that spreads beneath us like an unfurled roll of God's own carpet, from the sweeping expanses of suicide netting that hangs taut below us all the way down to the people-thronged streets, a mass of wriggling primary colors, then further, further into the distance over clipped buildings and a leveled skyline that sits low and magnifies the already huge blue sky.

I cup your breasts through your dress and rotate my thumbs over your noisette diamonds imagining the thousands of dramas unfolding and climaxing in the wondrous grid of cold humanity and warm architecture that sprawls all around us. Little cigarette-burned tableaus of pencil-skirted vixens and slim-suited rogues rattle by inside our longing, dirty minds. The artist going down hard and angry on his wide-hipped muse in a sunny studio as she smears paint and blood across his back, gasping beneath his mouth. The bored housewife inviting the baker's delivery boy inside her parlor where she loosens her breasts so he can lap at them like a hot spaniel, his basket spilling on the tile floor. The drunken actress frigging herself in the back of a cab as the driver watches in his rearview, her skirt around her waist, his hands on wheel and stick, their eyes locked in a reflection.

We lap it up like thirsty black cats let loose in a dairy farm. In a flash of white these filthy imaginings shake themselves loose from the sprockets in our heads and it is us again, just us, hot and needy.

You turn around and face me, your granite eyes wide and full.

“She is here,” I say, almost gasping, and let you plunge your tongue between my lips, pull hard on my hair. I close my eyes as our teeth grind across each other for a moment and you explore every dark corner inside my mouth, sliding and delving, licking and tasting, as I push my tongue against the roof of your mouth.

The platform we are on has emptied of people, probably embarrassed at our unashamed displays of utter desire and want.

“Maybe they are envious,” you say, sucking on my lower lip and letting it snap back as you pull your mouth from mine, “off to shape their own breathless moments.” You look over my shoulder and I feel you shudder. I know she is there, that you see what she is holding, that it excites you even more.

I turn and together we watch the girl. You wrap your arms around my waist, interlock your fingers against the baton of my cock that rears inside my pants, and move them up and down like you are starting a slow-burning fire.

She is pretty and black-haired and very French in tall black boots and a short red skirt, a grey military style jacket with large silver buttons and a red hat. She holds an expensive looking camera in her soft girl hands and smiles at us, uncapping the lens and bringing the camera up to her face.

“Have fun,” she says in an accent that drips down my belly like syrup, “do your thing and ignore me if you can.”

You spin me back around, grasp my head hard and lick my chin.

“This is my surprise?” you ask, your eyes half-closed. “I fucking love it, I fucking love you.”

I hold your small chin with one hand and bite your lower lip, hard.

“This is your surprise,” I say. “Whatever she takes we get. It's all arranged. We will always have this. Now, get yourself a good view of the city and show me your ass.”