Subversion of Innocence: The Corruption Of Holly

[RandomRandy]

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[RandomRandy]

Paul

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[Stardustblue]

Holly

I follow the maitre d’ absently through the rows of fashionably decorated tables. I haven’t quite convinced myself of what I am doing here. How you managed to convince me. How I seemed to think there was no other alternative. I clasp my hands together, my fingers running over the platinum bands around the fourth finger of my left hand. To remind me.

Not that I need to be reminded. I had never needed to be reminded before. I was a flirt. True, true. But it didn’t go beyond that. I liked feeling desirable. I liked the feeling that I gave men. I liked to think that later that night I would again enter their thoughts and fantasies. My image, mind you; not myself. I would be busy with my husband.

There was no reason for me to feel that tonight would be any different. I didn’t blame you. I was an attractive woman. Some was genetics; some was an obsessive and demanding vanity. I was sure that is what had attracted you. I had sat through enough of these conferences to know that I had an effect on you. And how valiantly you tried to recover, to compensate. It was cute. I hadn’t expected you to ask me to stay. And then to dinner. You had to have seen the ring. You did. You think you’ll win. But you can’t.

I felt a little bad as you went through the flock of audience members. Some of the women would have got down on their knees then and there to please you. Instead, you held out for me. My behavior was a little naïve when you first asked me. I typically didn’t get tongue-tied. But I had recovered now.

And fully. I had nothing to do, and the prospect of spending another night at one of the conference’s social events was too cringe worthy to bear. So I gave in and dialed the number. I even wore black as you asked. Humoring the old man is what you called it. I hoped that was all it was.

My phone had ringed on the ride over here. I wonder what your driver thought as my husband and I talked about our days. “Just checking in with you…I know how much you hate these things. Going out with some folks you met at the conference? Sounds fun. Have a good time. I miss you, Holly. I love you.” I felt disgusted at myself. I would just get tonight over with. We would drink, we would dine, and you would go home alone and finish what I started.

I see you. You are watching me. Admiring me. Good. Do that. Fuel your fantasies. You’ll need those memories for later. When you’re alone. When you realize that your, albeit carefully orchestrated and flattering, attempts at seducing me have failed. My fingers slide around the bands once last time, drawing strength from them.

You rise, eager to greet me, to let me know how tickled you are that I have accepted your invitation. You are a nice looking man; you are well dressed, in good shape, and handsome. Had I been single perhaps you would have had a chance, but you are three years too late for that. Three long years.

You are dressed all in black. It is a bit too Goth for my tastes but I am aware that you are a bit eccentric and can merely accept that for what it is. I lower myself carefully into the booth as the waiter effortless moves the table to accommodate me. You, being the gentleman, held my hand as you seated me. But now that you are seated the touch of your hand on mine is no longer necessary.

I pull my hand away politely. It is not so much like a slap to your pride, I smile while doing it. “Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the evening with my peers. Call me a snob but I don’t really have anything in common with them. Granted, I don’t know you well enough to know if I have anything in common with you. But of the two possibilities, you were the most insistent.” I chuckle but am soon quieted as the maitre d’ approaches our table. He is carrying what could easily be more than a dozen roses. All red.

I blush a bit, in spite of my best efforts not to. I don’t want to blush. But I feel bad. In spite of all of your thoughtful, and most brazen seductive gestures, I am going home tonight. Alone.

The maitre d’ pulls a small end table from behind the booth, sliding it next to me. He then sets the elaborate arrangement on the table. I don’t need to lean in to smell them. “Mademoiselle,” he says softly before bowing and making himself scarce.

I look from the roses to the man sitting opposite me. “You are most kind, but this certainly wasn’t…necessary.” I had chosen my words carefully. Perhaps “appropriate” or “called for” would have been more accurate. Still my red lips hint at a smile as much as I am willing them not to.

“Thank you.”

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

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[Stardustblue]

Holly

You brushed the rose so gingerly under my nose. I could feel its sweet aroma lulling me, filling me with feelings of romance, of tenderness. Roses are a way to a lady’s heart, are they not?

"Hold still, Holly." I wonder what you are doing. I hold myself still as the rose moves over my face, grazing over my cheeks and my lips. I don’t understand your purpose. You seem like an artist, a subtle lover. My fingers unnoticeably rub my ring, demanding strength from it. "You are my rose, my dear," you smile as the words come effortlessly from your eloquent mouth. "Nearly perfect match." I furrow my brow in confusion. You explain. "The color ... your lips ... what an incredible coincidence!" I am flattered. You thought to notice the similarities. Most men wouldn’t.

“Well.” I look down at my hands for a brief second. “A little about me. I’m a market analyst for Taylor and Foster. It isn’t my dream job but with this economy one takes what one can get. I am married, no children.” I stress this point. You need to know my heart and desire is elsewhere although I found a new sensation awaken in me. “The conference is a bit dull but I enjoyed your talk. My superiors insist on sending me here year after year but honestly I would rather be home with my husband.” I realize I’ve done all the chatting. I close my mouth and become silent. I feel your eyes on me. I look down, blushing.

With a slight movement of your hand a gentleman appears. He must have been so close to witness our conversation, your slow seduction with the rose. I know exactly what you are doing. You suggest Cabernet. That will do nicely.

You raise your glass in a toast. "Here's to a very pleasant first evening, and hopefully not our last." I wonder if you realize I do not plan to see you again. Your blatant disregard of my marital status is flattering and yet unsavory. Yet, it has been so long since I have been seduced. Pursued. Desired. Not taken for granted. We could be friends. Nothing more than friends.

A hesitant smile brightens my face in the dimly lit room. "Yes. I do hope we become friends. Good friends." I cringe inwardly at the last words. A small phrase yet taken out of context, so damning. So revealing. We clink glasses. Your knuckles graze mine accidently. At least it appears that way. I know your ends but I do not know all of your means.

"Do you like shellfish, dear Holly?" you ask. "Oysters?"

"I don't know, I've never tried them." My tastes in food were not quite that refined.

"Ahhh, you have an exotic experience coming. I envy you the pleasure of your first oyster." Your face emits a pleasurable glow reserved mostly for lovers. "And after the appetizer, they say the sea scallops are especially good tonight. In a white wine sauce, with asparagus."

I nod. "I am looking forward to trying it. If the food is anything like the service I know I will be delighted." I know what you are doing. Oysters are an aphrodisiac, aren’t they? You are a sly one. I am not unaware of your games. I know what you are doing. But in spite of my most valiant efforts, I am falling into your hands.

I fall silent as you order. You are clearly well respected. You are kind and courteous to the staff. That is an attractive quality as I was a was a waitress once. You would have left me a nice tip, I am sure of that.

You turn your attention back to me. You are a handsome man. Surely if I was free...but I don't know anything about you. I am walking into your web blindly. "I told you a little about me. Now I think it's your turn. I'd like to hear about you." I smile a charming smile as I wait for your response.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

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[Stardustblue]

You are so delighted with the oysters. They are like a little treasure you wish to share with me. I am not sure I will like them but I am willing to try. I am willing to indulge you, but only a little. “Oh what a treat you have coming,” you say, winking. "They say oysters are aphrodisiacs, you know."

I have heard that. I try to remain stoic but a small, shy smile pulls at my lips. You reassure me. “Well, it’s not true. A myth. Only in the mind.” The mind. The most important sex organ of all. But I should not be thinking of this. And I won’t. I put it from my mind. I cannot all the way for I am curious. You pique my interest, my curiosity. You are unlike anyone, ever.

“Placebo effect. They’re aphrodisiacs only if you think them to be. Or want them to be. Same thing. Then their powers are extraordinary.” You pause. “Want to risk one, sweet Holly? After all, it’s only in the mind.”

It’s only in the mind. Only in the mind. It won’t happen if I don’t let it. I have self control. I repeat this mantra to myself over and over as I watch you extract the oyster from its shell. I watch your fingers and your fork and the soft flesh. “Some people say it looks like a sex organ, but I’ve never figured out which one. It seems to have both male and female aspects. That’s probably why the myth started.”

The yoni or the lingam? I examine it carefully, trying silently to identify it. I cannot. It is just as he said. You raise the shell and my hand meets yours to take it but you stop me. “No, no, please allow me the pleasure.” Your hand brushes mine, pushing it away. Small shivers run through my fingers to my hands up into my arms. “Some people use a fork,” you explain. “But it’s really best right out of the shell.” You motion for me to tilt my head back and open my mouth, guiding my movements like a puppeteer. I feel silly and roll my eyes a bit; sure I must look unrefined to the other diners. Nevertheless I do as you have instructed. I feel the warmth of your fingers and the shell as they come closer to my lips. And I taste it. I do not begin to chew right away. I close my mouth and blush as a tiny bit of the juice slides from my lips and down to my chin. I feel the napkin, the soft cloth, cleaning me up.

I am careful. I do not typically try new, exotic foods but I am placing myself in your hands. I have chosen well. I feel my eyes light up and meet yours, silently thanking you as I begin to chew and taste and relish the treat in my mouth. My eyes meet your own but I do not feel the common flush in my face that colors my cheeks. It is something different. You are smiling. Your entire face. Your lips and your cheeks and your green eyes. “The Blue Points have a full, salty taste. Taste the ocean?”

Now that you mentioned it that is what I had tasted. I nod, my mind placing the taste with the ocean. You continue. “They’re among the most sought after in the world. The Cortez islands are salty too, but there’s a touch of sweetness. Very different taste and texture. Try one.”

I watch as you prepare the oyster for me, fascinated by your sophistication and somewhat befuddled at your interest in me. I see your fingers lift the shell and I eagerly tilt my head back and open my mouth. They are exactly as you have described them. Sweet. Different.

You teach me. You smile patiently, watching me as eventually I become capable of preparing the oyster and feeding myself. I smile, satisfied with my progress.

“What was your major, Holly? Psychology? English? Philosophy?” You are remarkably perceptive or maybe not so much. It is obviously apparent that I am not overly enthused with my job. I was good at it but my heart was not in it. I had to be content to follow my true passions outside of work with the limited time I had.

I smile a bit, aware of how foolish I must sound. “None of those. Music. Voice. Minor in religion. All highly practical,” I said mockingly. “But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world even though it has brought me here.” I know you know that here does not mean here, that here means the point in my life that requires me to work at something I loathe for the sake of supporting myself.

I ask about your life and you tell me about your wife and your daughter and the issues in your marriage. It doesn’t mirror my married life at all but I can sympathize with you. My husband and I had the newness of our union and our youth. We had the naivety to think that love would be enough to keep us together and so far it had.

I do not have a child but I smile when you talk of your Cindy. After all I’ve heard so often that most of the time children are the biggest success of a marriage. You talk of your work. What you did, how well you did it. I sip my wine as I listen to you. You’re a likeable man. You feel.

You ask the question that I have asked myself time and time again. "What am I going to do with the rest of my life? What am I going to do when I grow up?"

I don’t know the answer but maybe you do. I smile. “Well, what ARE you going to do with the rest of your life?”

You chuckle. It was the response I was looking for. A waiter comes over to refill my glass. I had not realized I had so much wine. As soon as he leaves you answer my question. I was not expecting the words that came from your mouth. "I'll make it my career to build a harem of young ladies like yourself."

You laugh. I giggle and I cannot stop. There is something so charming about you. You are silly. You make me smile. You teach me new things.

I like you. That much I can say for certain. Perhaps there may be other feelings. Feelings I long to ignore, to deny. But I can say I like you. There is no harm in that. I am glad to have attracted your attention.

The fingers of my right hand finger my ring discreetly, reminding me of my predicament. No, not a predicament. Nothing of the kind. I was not torn. I merely enjoyed your company. Your extraordinary company.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

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[Stardustblue]

You speak to me about music. I like you more. I like; no, I am flattered by your interest in me. You have ulterior motives, perhaps. Maybe I do, too. Mine are just a little more difficult to admit to myself.

“A music major! Do you sing? We’ll do a duet together!” I smile. My husband will not sing. Not even in the shower. It saddens me a bit. To me, singing is the most pure expression of joy that there ever was. “What do you like? Tell me all of it.” If I did we would be here all night. I pause thoughtfully and you continue. “How about mood music? Something with a rhythmic, primitive beat, something two people dance and make love to. Any favorites?” Your wicked smile hints at the side of you that simmers beneath the surface. Your words confirm what your face has told me. “It has to be erotic!”

A shy giggle escapes my lips. I am not too familiar with that. I suppose I had never thought of making love to music. I wondered how I could have overlooked the idea. After all, music was the elixir of life to me. But my music is more proper. It is more reserved. Orderly. Melodic. Yet some of it was passionate. I like romantic music. I rattle of the list. I wonder if you are familiar with at least half the names I say. I know you know Aerosmith, though. Maybe it surprises you. Maybe it doesn’t.

"Have you any brothers or sisters, Holly?"

“Only a younger sister. Faith." I feel very motherly toward her. She is naïve girl. She is quiet and lovely and I have been trying, with a moderate degree of success, to explore and embrace the world outside of her. There was so much to like about her. I grow silent. I would talk about her all night if given the chance.

I gaze up at you. I cannot recognize the look on your face. It is one of thoughtfulness. It is one of amusement. It is one of; dare I flatter myself to think it, lust? It is all this and more. It is complex. I notice then that you are handsome. That you have lovely green eyes. That I like the color of your hair. That I like the too faint scent of you. I chastise myself strongly. I hope you cannot tell in my expression the internal struggle I am having with myself. My fingers run over the small diamond of my ring. I think of my husband. I think of his kindness. He is nice. He is loving. But is that all? Is that enough? And if it were why were my thoughts of you growing more sexually charged with each moment? I don’t know.

I relax in my seat slightly, my knee making contact with yours. It is, ashamedly, deliberate. It is testing you. It is dipping my toe into the bathwater before getting in. My mind screams at me to withdraw my knee. To politely excuse my action as accidental and sit up straight again. But I cannot. Damn it, I cannot. The voice in my mind turns gentle. There is nothing wrong with flirting. Nothing wrong with feeling desirable, feeling light and carefree, yet remaining coy. That is forgivable.

I feel your knees cradle mine, one on each side. I am not sure what to think of your actions. Perhaps it is an unconscious response to my touch. I bring my right knee to brush against yours. We are locked now, our knees surrounding each others. I cannot look at you now. I suddenly feel shy. My eyes glance out at the rest of the restaurant. Love is in the air. There are three couples seated nearby. They are all nice looking. They all appear to be in love. Two of the couples seem more comfortable with the other than the third. The third couple seems much like you and I. There is a newness; a freshness in their interactions. I look away quickly as I feel the female’s eyes meet mine. I did not mean to stare.

The waiters bring out the main course. Maybe that will cool my awakening libido. Maybe that will give me time to collect my wits. To diminish the flirtations and, in due time, bid you goodnight and thank you sincerely for a beautiful evening. You fill my glass a bit. The opposite happens. The fire grows. The banter becomes more sensuous. More bold. You keep a smile on my face. You keep laughter in my eyes and my smile. If I were not married I would see you again. I wouldn’t have finished dinner. I would have whispered a bit coyly in your ear that I would prefer to go straight to dessert.

But those days were gone. I had not lived them enough perhaps when I had the chance. I had longed for stability, security. I had longed for someone to adore me. I had grown tired of hot nights and cold mornings. So I had wed.

I am glad I listened to your recommendation of the sea scallops and asparagus with white wine sauce. Between they oysters and now this I felt my palate awaken. I lift of spear of asparagus to my mouth, the overt sexuality of my action immediately apparent to me. I can play a bit, I decide, as I nibbled of the head slowly. I see you smile and I blush a bit, lowering my eyes and lowering my head. My eyes then peek up at yours. You are delighted. You laugh. It is like music to me. I wish to hear it over and over and over again. I finish the asparagus bite by bite before turning my attention to the rest of my dinner.

A slight blush creeps into my face as I briefly entertain a notion of what kind of lover you would be. It is only a notion. I will never find out, but fantasy is nice. I will think about it tonight when I am in bed, as I congratulate myself on the moral superiority of my actions; my triumph over the desires of the flesh. But I can wonder…that I can do. There would be no rolling over and falling asleep. There would be experimenting. Maybe even costumes. It was my theatrical side. There would be abandonment. There would be others. There would be no rules, no bashfulness; just plain desire. Lovemaking and fucking and playing. That is what it would be like. But I would never know that.

My eyes slide over to the new couple. I am a bit shocked to see their boldness. I envy their freedom to explore each other with an audience present. They kiss. Her hand sneaks close to the seat of his desire. I look away, my gaze running into yours. “Isn’t it beautiful,” you whisper. It is. I feel my legs tighten around yours. I do not mean to do this but I am powerless to stop it. I cannot eat just now. I am still trying to understand the raw desire I have for you. The atmosphere changes. I do not know why. It something so subtle, so subliminal. I am not going to attempt to identify it. I will just take it for what it is. I will just accept it and let it wash over me, to leave its residue upon me.

At some point it isn’t flirtation anymore. It is innuendo. It is lust. It is not something you get up and leave. It is not a walk to the door and a chaste goodnight kiss. It is the kind of thing that will grow and build, it will demand your attention, it will demand fulfillment. It is like the beginning of an addiction. It is all consuming. It will swallow me up.

It has the potential to swallow you, too; to engulf you. It is time for the coffee now, and then the Crème Brule. It is merely a formality. It is not the end. I have decided. I have put all thoughts out of my mind. The only thing I feel is an overpowering desire, so intense its effects that I am a bit frightened. Frightened at the depth of my desire. I will initiate it. That, too, is a formality. We both know what will happen; I do not need to extend an invitation. But I do. I extend my right hand slowly across the table.

We get up to leave. I notice the couple. Any other time I would have murmured something about getting a room. But not now. I feel it, too. I feel it with every atom of me. As soon as we are far away giddy laughter escapes us. We both know that the couple was almost a mirror image of us.

I am surprised to see your car waiting for us outside. I am quite happy to see it there as the night is cold and I didn’t think to wear a coat. The car is warm and beautiful. I quickly slide into the seat, the warm leather under me. You don’t open and close my door for me; I don’t want you to. I slide in, moving my body close to yours. We are so close now. I can smell you. I can feel your warmth. I can also feel the insistent heat that consumes me.

I am not sure where we are going. I hope it is not far. I squirm in the seat. I will not be comfortable. This will be the longest car ride in my life. The lights of town become faint in the background. You are silent. And then you take my hand. You do not hold it. You place it in your lap. I am a bit surprised at your boldness. Nevertheless I whimper approvingly at the solid bulge contained beneath your slacks. I will touch you. I will drive you crazy as you have done to me. I can play, too.

Your eyes meet mine. I would almost take the wheel from you and pull the car over. But I cannot. I read your lust. It complements mine. I feel your body rotate upward, pressing itself closer to my hand. I am not sure if you meant to do this but I enjoy it nonetheless. It is time for my witchcraft.

My hand strokes softly, almost imperceptibly grazing the fabric. I can feel your sex strain against its confines. I feel almost guilty for teasing you this way, but you are the one that presented me with the opportunity. And I would take it. My touch grows firmer. Your breathing changes. It is like the melody of my favorite song. My fingers find your zipper and ease it down, excruciatingly slowly. This is the extent of my kindness. You are free now. My hands glide up and down your shaft. This will do very nicely. Perhaps it is even too much. The speed of my hands increase. I wrap both hands around it now, my fingers interlocked. My eyes remain fixed on yours. They rarely leave the road. I long to kiss your lips. They are soft. Kissable. I long to feel your lips all over my body. I long to leave my red lip marks all over your body as well.

A surge of naughtiness leaps through my veins. It is time to up the ante a little. To give you a little taste of what you do to me. Literally. I remove one of my hands from around your shaft and reach underneath my dress. The extent of my wetness surprises me. Have I ever been this wet? Has my cunt ever ached more strongly than this? My finger finds my clit and I shudder. I remove my finger and bring it to your lips.

Two can play this game too, you know.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Your lips surround and pull my fingers into your warm mouth, your tongue lapping at the sweetness that coats them. You know now. Or perhaps, you always knew, but now you have the obvious physical evidence. The smoking gun of my desire. The movement of your tongue is slow, sensuous, and insistent. It is hopefully a hint of things to come. I work to make you more comfortable, freeing you almost completely from the confines of your trousers. It is not so much for you but for me. It is easier for me to work on you that way.

“I’m sorry, Holly, but I have to make a quick business call. Please forgive me, but please don’t stop what you’re doing. I’ll only need a minute.” Your fingers dance over a few keys and place it at your ear. I am a little irritated at the interruption. Nevertheless, it would be a long car ride and I doubted I could bring you to orgasm until we arrive at your house. Yes, orgasming while driving is probably not the best idea. “Hello, Nick, how are you. Sorry to call you after hours."

I am sorry, too, Paul. I am sorry that I will be forced to make your phone call infinitely more difficult by touching you as you conduct business. My eyes sparkle, a sexual mischief apparent in them as my hand continues to move up and down your shaft, my palm making special contact with the ultra-sensitive patch on the underside near the head. "Nick, Nick!" Your voice has changed. I am not sure if it is my actions or Nick’s words that are doing it but I am willing to bet that my hands have something to do with it. “Nick, cut it out and listen. Unh.” Bingo. I smirk, satisfied that my ministrations are having their desired effect upon you.

But maybe a little too much. I hear the squeal of the tires and feel the car jerk. Maybe multi-tasking is not such a great idea at this time. Then again, dear Paul, you did tell me not to stop what I’m doing, didn’t you? So I won’t. “Nick, you know the Art and Cynthia contract I had you set up the other day?” My eyes narrowed. Yes, I was listening. Yes, I was nosy. “That’s right. Umm. Ahhhh…well, they’ve done great, and I want them on the more extensive contract that we talked about before.” I am still listening, I am still caressing, using both hands, the pace quickening.

I watched your face, your eyes. Yes, your eyes. Expressive and green. I could not see the green very well at night in the dark but I remembered them from the restaurant, sparkling with humor and desire. I removed one hand and tightened the other around your shaft, marveling at the hard heat I felt there. A little surge of pride flowed through me as I realized that it was me having an effect on him this way. Yes, me, Holly, the woman who had perhaps twice given her husband a blow job since they wed. Yes, that Holly, who as of tonight had morphed into some sort of sexual deviant. I didn’t understand what I was doing. But I didn’t have to.

You are silent for a minute before continuing with this Nick person you are talking to. “Umm, arghh, yes, that’s right.” Ohhh, dear. Paul, if you are not careful Nick is going to know what you are up to. Typically I am not into this sort of thing but between the wine and the night and my desire it delights and amuses me. “Yes, yes, that's right, that's the, ahhh contract I'm talking about. Very convincing, very ... extremely well played. I want them. Make it happen, Nick. Mmhhh. Whatever it takes, just like we discussed. Make it worth their while."

I silently wished you were my boss. But I wouldn’t have been able to do this with my boss. My hand grew a bit tired and I grew a bit more devilish. I would take things a bit further. I leaned over, placing my lips softly on the head of your cock and kissing it. I parted my lips before sliding them down to engulf the head of your cock. “Ahhhh…no, but…” A little pause as I feel your eyes look down, noticing me there, noticing my insistent lips and mouth and tongue upon you. “Mmmphhh. Well yeah! But do what I said, ok! Ummm, make it happen, Nick. Is everything else taken care of?” I hear the tires squeal again but I can’t see the road now. Perhaps I am doing too well.

Your cock is nestled now between my soft, moist lips, my tongue flicking small circles around the head, dipping slightly into the little hole, tasting the bit of precum that has collected there. I pull my lips off, sucking in the little string of saliva that ran from your cock to my red lips. “Good, good…ohhh…goodbye, Nick.” Finally. His hand closes his cell phone in one fluid motion and at the same time the car jerks roughly to the right, making me glad that I had kept the lap belt around my waist and not taken it all the way off. I had removed my lips at precisely the right time.

I feel the car accelerate again, the purr of the engine exciting me. My hand holds your cock as I softly slap it against my lips, my tongue sticking out of my mouth a little, able to taste your cock as it moves against my lips and cheeks. I hope so very much then that we are nearly to your house. While I am quite happy to be teasing you the urges within me are growing more and more undeniable. My wetness has already soaked through my thin panties and my thighs are slippery with it. A dull ache has begun in my cunt. My clit is begging to be touched, my cunt is pleading to be filled.

I slide my lips around you again, sucking greedily at the head but allowing a bit more to slide into my mouth. It will take some time for me to be able to take you completely. My hand caresses and massages your balls, marveling at how they feel enclosed in their sac. I wait for you to say something, to grunt, to groan, to slide your hands roughly upon my body. My head bobs up and down on your throbbing shaft as we get nearer and nearer to our destination.

 

[MissGuided]

Cynthia

"Hello?"

The Money has left the restaurant with his brunette toy in tow. I'm still here with Art-the-actor. I run my stocking-clad foot up and down Art's leg under the table, just a little to the outside of his shin where I can feel his calf muscle with my toes. He has a nice leg, good tight calf. I run my big toe along the hard, well-defined ridge of the muscle and I think how good it would be to wrap my legs around his from the outside in, from a supine position, calf-to-calf, face-to-face, and it's been a nice gig, falling in love, but now we're winding down and it's time to come back to earth and start falling out of love again, earth calling Cynthia, earth calling Cynthia, but ...

"Hello? Who IS this?" I'm a little irritated that this rude cell phone in my hand has the potential of spoiling a very nice winding down of a very pleasant afterglow. I feel Art's dwindling touch on my thigh. It was nice while it lasted, he got pretty close to getting a nice damp feel job between my legs a little while ago while Money and his date watched. She was pretty! I enjoyed performing for them. But we are professionals, the gig's over, time to strike the stage.

Art. Never met him before. But, o i do so think i like him. The agency threw us together after Money called them. I'm not even sure that's his real name, just as Cynthia is only my professional name.

Improv is so fun, and we had a good time together, acting like falling in love. But it's only a gig. Oh, certainly, you have to give yourself to the role. But then you have to come back down. Maybe we can get together again sometime. Professionally.

"Who? Ah, Jennifer? Hi Jennifer, what can I do for you?"

Jennifer explains that she just talked to Money, and he was impressed and wants to extend the contract, but not through the agency, directly with us.

"Oh, well, that's fine. But I'm sort of booked the rest of the week, and ..."

She explains that he wants us tonight.

"But ... and ... my boyfriend and I have some plans for tonight already, and ..."

She explains that Money is willing to pay. A lot.

"Ha, ha, well I'm glad we made such a good impression, and maybe we can set up something later this week after all, if Art is available and if I can clear out ...

She explains how much Money is offering.

"Ahhhhh!!!" I reflexively grab Art's hand under the table so tightly that he flinches. My fingernails dig in. "Oh God! THAT much? That's really ... quite a lot!"

Jennifer explains what she wants us to do. I go silent. I think my jaw drops. I rake my fingernails down Art's thigh violently and watch him shudder with pain.

"B-b-b-but .... b-b-but ... but I have a b-b-boyfriend. And Art's married. Out of the question. Not even a possibility. We're just actors. We're not ... we couldn't ... wouldn't ... ahhh ... we ...

Jennifer gives a final offer.

"We ... we ... we ... well ..." I'm on the verge of shock. "I'll see what my ... partner thinks." I put my hand over the mouthpiece and whisper to Art, "She wants us to ... wants us to ..." I take a deep breath. "Talk to her!" I hand Art the phone.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Holly

I don't want to go home.

It's taken me awhile to get it through my skull, to deal with all of the many things that plague and trouble my psyche. But, whether you want to take me home or not, you're not going to.

My hands clasps over yours, firmly and deliberately. You will not shift gears with my hands over yours. I will not let you. If you foolishly attempt to continue, we will drive off and into the abyss. The choice is yours.

But you will not take me home.

You think you know what is best for me. You are smart and wise and seasoned, yes; you are all those things and more. But you do not, you are not able to decide whether I go home or not. Only I make that decision. And I've made it.

I'm staying.

My hands unfasten the belt from around my body and slide over the seat toward you. You push me away but I climb onto you. You fight me but I turn the car off and pull the key from the ignition. Your hands are hard fierce on me, pinching and clawing. I toss the keys in the backseat. We will find them later.

"I am a desolate, sad, and bitter woman. You make me feel alive. You cannot light the fire and then leave it to die out. I love you. I want to stay with you. I do not want to go home."

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[MissGuided]

Cynthia

OOC:
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Art and I wait patiently in the wings. He's hot for me and I think I like him. *Heavy breathing* Are you two EVER gonna get to the good stuff so you can get past it and on with the important task of using and abusing us? *pout*

IC:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Art snaps the phone shut and deposits it on the table in front of me in one fluid motion, a stunned look on his face. "Did she tell you the same thing she told me?"

I nod affirmatively.

"I'm married. You have a boyfriend. We could nearly retire on this."

I nod affirmatively.

"He wants us tonight. Would you ... could you ... it's not like I wouldn't be tempted. We ... could be good together, but ..."

In reply, under the table and out of sight in this posh restaurant, I run my foot up the inside of his leg to the knee, then along the thigh to find a bulge at the end of it. I prod gently with my big toe. Hard! He closes his eyes and groans softly.

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Holly

I moan loudly as I feel your mouth on me, the flimsy fabric of my red panties the last vestige of my resistance to you. You have already rid me of my dress and my dignity. It is not that I mind; rather I do not. My thighs hold you to me, squeezing you like a vise, unwilling to let you go. I feel your tongue and then your teeth on me and I moan again, more urgent and primal. I like it. It is new but I don’t want it to stop. So much of this is new to me.

You push me away roughly, forcing me to the passenger side of the car. I whimper in protest but within seconds you are on top of me, your hands working the controls of the seat, moving it back as far as it can go and lowering it so it is more like a bed than a chair. Your eyes meet mine. The green I see there is striking. It is green on fire; green infused with life. Why couldn’t things have been different?

It doesn’t matter, for you are on me again, your hands running up and down my body savagely, eliciting little cries from me. I struggle to process the stream of sensations that you create within me but it is futile. I feel like my body is betraying me; responding to little hints of pain more strongly than it typically did to gentle caresses. My teeth bit down on my lower lip as I feel your fingers scratch over my flesh. You smile as you’ve caught the expression on my face; the one of wonder, marveling at how you can rake your nails on my skin and cause me to shudder and want more.

I love your smile. I move my head up, trying to kiss you; to be one with you there, to have that intimacy. You grant my unspoken request and my legs wrap around you again, drawing you closer to me. I feel your hands move over my sex, over my panties. I close my eyes, hoping that you will rid me of them.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[MelancholyBaby]

Holly

OOC: I changed the style a bit, still experimenting with her.

IC: I feel sick. I tremble; not from desire but from guilt. I am making a huge mistake. Maybe now if I forced Paul to stop it would be easy to explain to Robert. “I was bored at the conference, you know how I hate those things,” I would say, “And one of the speakers invited me to dinner, I made clear I was married but I had some alcohol and things became a little more heated…” No excuses, Holly. You knew what Paul intended before you even left the hotel to meet with him. Lying to Robert would just complicate things. Don’t be even more sleazy than you’ve been. And you don’t have to do anything else with Paul, you can stop.

But my body wouldn’t allow it. As I felt the damp fabric of my panties ripped from my hips I felt more aroused than ever before. There was something raw and primal about the way things were going right now. I needed, craved more. And I decided, husband or no husband, I was going to get more. I moaned loudly, a moan coupled with a growl; a sound Paul was sure to understand.

I lift my head up, my lips trying to find his, but he would not allow the union. His hands grasped my hair and tugged my head back, almost painfully so. “It is Robert Lane.”

My eyes close. I want to cry. I want to protect Robert from the actions of his dirty wife, me, Holly Lane; the girl he chastised a week ago for being too affectionate with him around his parents. Yes, I am a very bad woman. Tears escape the barrier of my lashes and lids and trickle down my face. My heart, my conscience has been touched; but my body remains largely unaffected by my guilt. It seems my guilt has the opposite effect on Paul; it is like an aphrodisiac.

“Look at me, Holly,” he says, his grip tightening in my hair. I struggle to open my eyes and meet his gaze. His other hand moves between my thighs and his fingers part the slick folds of my sex and find my clit. I stare into his green eyes as he pleasures me with his fingers. My hands cling to his forearm, keeping him there, and close around him tighter as I feel my body tighten, moving very close to release.

“Yes, yes, yes, yesss…” There were a million yes’ but only one no as he removed his hand from my sex, and brought it to my lips, forcing me to clean my sweetness from his fingers. “Paul, please, please,” I whisper the last part almost inaudibly. “Please fuck me.” I move my body, trying to scoot under him, to try to position myself near him. He moves away. I move again, wanting more. Paul moves again, denying me.

“Holly,” Paul says; amusement apparent on his face, “What would Robert Lane think?” I hate him then. I hate his bringing Robert into this; I hate his ability to act so cool and collected while I present myself to be a starving slut who hasn’t had sex in years. I hate him and I want him all at the same time.

“Please don’t,” I say, moving my hips again, inviting him to take me.

“Please don’t what, Holly,” Paul says, his voice so calm. I want to scream at him, I want to tell him how very absurd this is for the two of us to be naked in his car and talking and begging instead of fucking.

“Don’t mention Robert. He doesn’t deserve this…” My voice trailed off. That should’ve been what convinced me to end it, to push Paul off of me and get dressed and somehow find my way back to the conference. But instead, it was an attempt to assuage my guilt and a request for Paul take me deeper.

 

[RandomRandy]

Paul

.....

 

[RandomRandy]

.....