Show Me (12 page)

“Of course,” she whispered. “Of course you can.”

He moved between her knees and she felt the hard tip of his cock pressing against her. With his hand he moved it against her, passing the head over her clitoris in teasing circles. She leaned back against the table and opened her legs farther, giving herself up to the experience completely. He thrust into her, just an inch, and paused with his fingers stroking the insides of her upper thighs, sending shivers through her. She felt her pussy falling into spasms around his dick, the tightening muscles closing on a delicious sensation, a foretaste of him fucking her.

His hands moved to her breasts, finding her nipples through the thin material of her blouse and teasing them into response. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and then he drove his cock all the way in.

Zaza gasped, bracing herself against the table to take him in deep. She shut her eyes, falling into a dreamlike state in which she felt the whole shape and size of him inside her, an outline of sensual longing. When she opened them, he was smiling down at her. He began to move his hips in a gently rotating motion, moving in and out of her—and around and around inside her—so that she felt he was seeking out every possible reserve of hunger in her cunt and satisfying it. At the same time, he was waking further and keener hungers, and she instinctively reached for his hips. Her hands on the hard muscles there, she guided him into her again and again, and then just relaxed and enjoyed the sense of him fucking her, the familiar movements seeming freshly exotic and impossibly dirty. She was fucking a near stranger, on a table, with hidden cameras registering every move, every gentle sound of ecstasy that she made. She began to pull him into her more insistently. She was in a trance of ecstasy, lost in the repeated moment of fulfillment when his cock filled her, hitting a place inside her that she could feel as a blinding spot of pleasure—and then fleeing again, only to return to that point. And while fucking him, she did feel beautiful; she was the sexual dance, an expression of these magical desires, the dark raptures of the body.

Before she expected it, her pussy suddenly fell over the edge of pleasure and lapsed into a searing, overwhelming orgasm, making her cry out in a long high note of surprise. It peaked and held her, dizzy and helpless, tensed around that star of bliss that exploded and exploded continuously inside her. At last it began to subside into waves that sent a darker version of the same feeling over her whole body, even to a brief, sweet ache in her fingertips.

At the same time, she felt him drive into her one last time, going into that spot of perfect sensation and forcing it deeper, almost painfully. And he came with a half moan, half cry of wild release, his cock kicking inside her.

When she at last opened her eyes, he was smiling down at her, still drowsily stroking one of her breasts with his hand.

She said, “Oh, man. I just remembered the cameras, just now.”

He laughed. “So you want to take it back?”

“Hardly.” Then a faint misgiving swept through her mind and she said, “Oh, no. There’s one thing I was going to tell you. It just happened, and I . . .”

He frowned. “What? Is there some problem?”

“No, not exactly. It’s just that . . . you know, my task was supposed to be to fuck you. But that wasn’t why . . . I mean, you shouldn’t think that’s the only reason. But . . .”

He laughed and leaned forward to hug her. “Oh, Zaza. You’re nuts.”

“I am?” she said, cheered. “Okay, but isn’t it a little manipulative? I mean, I know that’s part of being here, but . . .”

“Well, I hope you don’t lose respect for me,” he said. “But I got to tell you,
my
task was to fuck
you.
”

“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. For a moment, she considered that all his advice to her had just been a setup, a ploy to get to the point of fucking. But he was smiling at her with the same easy warmth, and it was impossible to think of him as using her. It was a game they were playing together. And it had turned out that after all they were playing on the same side. She said, “Well, so we both win.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But they certainly wanted to mess with us.”

“Oh, well. If they wanted to mess with us . . .” Zaza sighed. “They win, too.”

 

 

 

 

J
ared had first met Babylona in his own living room. He was twenty-two then, and doing an internship for a publisher that involved long hours of copyediting at home. It was July, and the work was made all the more onerous because he had no air conditioner in his fourth-floor walk-up apartment. That Saturday night, he’d been working from the time he got up to early evening, sitting in boxer shorts at his desk with the coffeemaker on the floor next to him for convenience. The open window sometimes afforded him a gentle breeze that barely cooled his sweat to room temperature. As the sun began to set, he spent increasing stretches of time staring out the window at his fire escape and the windows opposite, in which he could see a happy couple preparing dinner—a fact that only underscored his single, overworked, unloved state.

He had been in New York for only four months, and found it impossible to meet girls—at least girls who might become girlfriends. The few one-night stands he’d had were fun at first (the sex part) but ultimately embarrassing and sad (the waking-up-in-the-morning part). Recently, with his workload growing into even the tiniest nooks and crannies of his waking hours, he had given up completely. There was the occasional office flirtation with an editorial assistant or secretary, but they would always, eventually, drop the words “my boyfriend” into conversation, returning him fi rmly to square one.

That evening he was out of sorts, halfway to abandoning the whole idea of careers, New York City, success. He was copyediting a book about dog training that was so poorly written his boss kept making the joke that it was from the dog’s point of view. The mangled English necessitated endless tiny notes in red pencil. The red pencils needed sharpening seemingly every other minute. His feet kept falling asleep. His mind had been worn down to a trudging semiconsciousness.

He came to the end of a paragraph about paper training and looked up again at the fire escape, resting his chin on his hands. As he stared out disconsolately, a red-haired woman climbed down the iron steps from the floor above. She was moving carefully, almost tiptoeing, as if afraid to make a sound. She was wearing socks. They were white cotton ankle socks, and they made it all the more surreal that she was otherwise completely nude.

She caught his eye and paused just outside his window, looking remarkably composed. He also noticed, as his immediate shock passed into a more diffuse and lasting shock, that she was extraordinarily lovely. Her widely spaced blue eyes, turned-up nose, and full lips gave her face a foxlike charm; her full breasts and wide hips were made graceful by a narrow waist and long legs. He realized he was staring—but it was his home, after all. His fire escape. He had every right to gape.

She put one finger to her lips and gestured with an inquiring look:
Could I come in?
He nodded, trying to ignore the immediate response from his dick, the stirring that presaged a hard-on that would be clearly visible.

The beautiful stranger climbed in the open window, stepping from the radiator to the floor with impressive poise. Then she said, in a throaty, musical voice, “I’m terribly sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“No, not at all,” he said. The calm of his own voice surprised him. Meanwhile, his dick was showing all the signs of extreme un-calm, rising against the fabric of his shorts. He moved his hands to a strategic position on his thighs, hoping to subtly shield it from view.

Stalking in, she sat on his new prize acquisition—a plush armchair he’d found on the sidewalk the week before. She let herself fall back into it in a posture of limp relief, crossing her slim legs neatly. “It’s so kind of you to take me in,” she said. “The girl who lives above you was very unsympathetic.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to think what people did in this situation. But this situation didn’t arise. “Do you need help?”

She smiled at him with a bewitching mischief in her blue eyes. “I’m afraid this is very banal. I’m fleeing a jealous girlfriend.”

For a disappointed moment, he thought she meant
her
girlfriend. Then he realized. “Oh, it’s your boyfriend upstairs. Or, I mean, your—whatever he is.”

“My ex-whatever-he-is, I suspect. These things never seem to get back on their feet after an upset like this.” She sighed and smiled at him with an enigmatic languor.

He ran out of things to say then, pondering whether he should offer her something to wear. Would that seem like judging her? She apparently felt no self-consciousness whatsoever about lounging nude in front of a stranger. His hard-on had progressed to the throbbing phase, also. If he got up, she would be sure to see it.

Then she said, to his mingled horror and relief, “Don’t bother hiding your erection. If you didn’t have it, I might be offended, you know.”

His cock twitched as if responding to being mentioned. He forced himself not to imagine her parting her legs . . . to
stop
imagining it. He cleared his throat. “Um, I don’t know if I . . . I just didn’t expect . . .”

She narrowed her eyes a little anxiously and looked at the doorway. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. I mean, not right now.”

“Not right now? Are you going to have a girlfriend in the next thirty minutes? Because although I love surprises, the same surprise twice in a row would be too much.”

“No, there’s not going to be any surprise girlfriend.” His heart was pounding. He realized he was staring at her face in a strange, fixed manner to avoid looking down at her breasts.

She met his gaze seriously, her eyes shifting into a particular vulnerability he would later know well. When she spoke, her voice was soft, a little plaintive. “You’re such a handsome man. It must be my bad luck.”

“Bad luck?” His voice came out hoarse, almost angry with lust.

“I had meant to ask you for the loan of a coat and then find my way home. I honestly had. But now that I’m here with you . . .”

“This is not happening to me,” he said, his cock aching. He was aware of a single bead of sweat moving slowly down his forehead.

She said, “Then let’s just say that it’s happening to me.” She parted her legs, hooking one knee over the arm of the chair. He found himself staring at her pussy, a pink slash embellished with a thin strip of bright red hair. From where he sat, he could see the faint glistening of her inner labia. The expression on her face was imploring; she was offering him the weakness of her lust. Her face said
You can do whatever you want with me. I can’t help myself.

He got up and went to her, feeling like a sleepwalker—a sleepwalker having a particularly improbable wet dream. Taking him by the hips, she drew him down to kneel in front of her. Then she was pulling down his boxers and taking his cock in her hand.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she said in a near whisper. He was trembling and unable to speak. Her hands moving up and down his cock were possibly the best thing he had ever felt.

He said, “Can I . . . Do you mind if I touch your breasts?”

“As long as you fuck me while you do it, you can do whatever you like.”

Then she was guiding his straining cock toward her. When the tip met her wetness, he gasped and she let him go, lying back in an attitude of utter defenselessness. Already his hands were on her breasts, cupping them in drunken amazement, lost in a wash of lust. And his hips moved forward, seemingly of their own irresistible will, shoving his cock into her. He was instantly gripped by dizzying waves of pleasure, her cunt spasming over him, drawing him deeper. Her breasts were soft and full in his palms. She was murmuring, “Please . . . please fuck me now. Please . . .”

As he began to fuck her, he felt mingled euphoria and fear. It was as if he was falling into a new world, one where the old rules didn’t apply, where everything he had ever fantasized about came for him with irresistible force. With every thrust, his cock was caressed and filled by waves of sensation more profound than any he’d ever felt before. It was what he’d always imagined sex could be like, but never really believed. She was gripping the arms of the chair and twisting under him in a sinuous abandon that made his whole body respond. He had never been so intensely, fully engaged in sex. All too soon, he felt the pleasure mount to an unstoppable craving peak, and he was coming, and feeling her coming, her hips raised to press into his, his cock jerking and all his lust flowing out of him in an overwhelming rush.

There was a moment outside of time in which he was almost fainting, or remembering fainting. He couldn’t have sworn that he was awake, or that any of it had been real. Then his cock spasmed one more time and he opened his eyes. She was looking up at him with a knowing affection. Her face had an expression of unquestioning acceptance; it was a look like an embrace.

“You are a true friend,” she said in a dazed, drowsy tone. “If I can call you my friend?”

“Of course,” he said, and bent to kiss her with an impulse of gratitude. She had given him a memory that would always remain magical, he thought, a moment of outrageous generosity. Already he felt that sex was changed for him. Some lingering shame or doubt that he had always carried with him was completely gone.
There’s nothing wrong with this,
he thought.
This is just good. Simple and good.

As he thought it, his cock began to gently stir again, stiffening inside her. Her eyes opened and looked at him with something like respect. She said, “Oh, how wonderful. How old did you say you were?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“How perfectly perfect. Darling, would you fuck me again?”

By the time she left the following morning, he’d fucked Babylona four more times, and he had a new job.