Susannah Indigo: Readerotica vol.1

You think maybe you should get up and take this man to your room or maybe you shouldn’t, but then he says “Don’t move, China. I want you right here.“

The rain is not cold, but his hands on your legs feel like the sun and you move into his heat.

He asks you why you are wearing such bright red lipstick here on the beach and you say you don’t know, but then you remember your friend Annie made you put it on, and you remember that it is called ‘Scarlet Begonias’ and it is the same color that she put on your fingernails and your toes. You tell him this. He runs his finger across your lips. He begins to draw down your chest with his finger and stops just above your breasts.

“Take your top off,” he says, and you slip it off and arch your back for him like it is the most natural act in the world and you have known him forever. You’re sure that this is what you were born for, to lie here on the white sand with rain falling all around you and a man with black hair and strong hands lying on top of you and protecting you from it all.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and you move underneath him and say “yes” and you try and think of his name but it doesn’t seem to matter now. “Do you want me to fuck you, China?” he asks quietly, so quietly that you think his voice is coming from somewhere out there in the rain. His hands run down from the curve of your breast over your belly and he is taking off the bottom of your bikini. He kisses you where the softness of your red pussy hair meets your wetness, just one single kiss. He lies back on top of you and you can feel his hard cock pressing into you.

You forget that you are here in the rain and that you barely know this man and that there must be other people out there somewhere and that if the rain stops they will all see you. It somehow doesn’t matter because all there is in the world is the sensation of every inch of your skin pressing into his and it seems that this man belongs inside of you but somehow you have to find the words to say yes.

“Yes,” you hear from somewhere in the rain, and it sounds like your voice but it is not, it’s your friend Annie’s voice and she is there next to you with her hands on your ankles and she is saying “yes,” not to him but to you, “yes China,” she says, “yes,” like she is reminding you that you like to wear lipstick, and “yes,” like she is reminding you that you need to let go, and “yes,” like she is the only one who can tell you that you need to say yes to this man and this feeling and this place and that it is all okay and that of course this is what you want and what you need.

“Do you want me to fuck you, China?” the man asks one more time, and it is barely a question. He holds your wrists together over your head and as soon as you say “yes, fuck me” you can feel Annie’s hands on your ankles and she is spreading your legs wider for him and watching. He begins to enter you, so slowly that you think you will die from the pleasure and your lack of control and then he is driving into you hard and fast and you hear Annie saying “yes” over and over and you are with her and with him and you hope everyone in the world is watching and feeling exactly what you feel.

I hear Annie moaning and coming to her own story and I am coming with her and I think maybe she really did have her hands on my ankles, but I’m not even sure where I am. It is all so amazing and I am laughing and hugging her. Real hugs, the one Jack calls the melting hug, where your whole body embraces the other person.

Annie laughs with me. “Hey, it works for me every time. Get dressed, darlin’. I think we’re way past the 7 ^ th inning stretch out there.”

As soon as Annie and Sam have gone for the night, I hurry to find Jack, who is in the kitchen cleaning up. I can’t stand it. I turn off the water, wrap my arms around him and whisper to him.

“I need you to fuck me.”

His eyes widen, but I give him credit for not laughing.

“Did I hear you right, China? Say it again.”

“I need you to fuck me, Jack.” I’ve never said that to a man before in my life. I pull my sweater off over my head and kneel in front of him and undo the belt on his jeans.

“Louder, China.” I can hear the smile in his voice and I take his hard cock in my mouth and wrap the words right around it. “Fuck me, Jack. Fuck my mouth. Fuck me everywhere.” I want to take him so far inside of me that I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m dripping inside of my jeans and I need him there too. I feel positively… well, wanton. “God, fuck me, Jack, please fuck me, here, in the kitchen.”

He is on me in a flash, and lifts me up and turns me around and takes off my jeans and lays me across the counter. “I guess this is not the night for learning the gentle Streaming Process, is it, baby.” His hands are hard and good on my ass and my thighs and he is spreading my legs back around his waist and wrapping me tight and all that floods my brain is fuck me, fuck me, Jack. My face is hard on the cold counter and he is standing behind me and when his cock slides all the way into my pussy hard and fast I begin to come, and he drives me harder and harder pulling me back against him and I know, I know, I know all the secrets of the fucking universe and he never stops until he comes so far up inside of me and reaches me in places I didn’t even know were there.

When I wake up at three a.m. and reach for Jack across the bed, I know what I want. If a woman wants to come for a third, or is it fourth, time in the same night, what on earth does this make her-a nympho? Just wanton? Or maybe even-interesting?

Jack struggles awake as I kiss him, long and slow with my tongue deep in his mouth, the kind of kiss I forgot existed for me, and there are dark men and strange women with beaded earrings dancing in my head, but mostly there is Jack weaving through it all, waiting, smiling, surprised.

“Jack, darling… ”

“What?” he whispers from his half-awake state. I light the two candles on the nightstand and climb back into bed and pose for him.

“Watch me now.”

I walked by The Chocolate Dream every day for months on my way to work and resisted entering. Oh, I stopped and looked, like everyone did. In my case it was more at the girl behind the counter than the window display. But I am a man who has mistaken lust for love one too many times in life, and thought I had learned my lesson well.

In the window: tiny chocolates in the shape of skiers, chocolate-covered cherries decorated like nipples, a layered chocolate cake smothered with strawberries, a curvy cake resembling a stripper, and a rather large chocolate dildo decorated suggestively with dripping white icing. Behind the counter: long thick black curly hair, overripe breasts, a short skirt, and those over-the-knee stockings that can drive a man to school-girl fantasies. Also behind the counter, a bearded, older man who appeared to be either the owner of the bakery or the woman's father.

It was such a simple and safe routine-leave for work, read the paper on the train, walk down 15th Street and stop and stare at her thighs while pretending to lust for chocolate. Proceed safely on through the day with fantasies sweeter than sugar.

So you can imagine my surprise the day the chocolate dildo disappeared.

I thought perhaps I had only dreamed it all. The entire erotic display was gone. Proper little candy boxes lay open on the red doilies. A three-foot tall wedding cake towered over them.

What could I possibly do? A man has to know why things happen. I opened the door and went in.

The stockings came toward me. "Hi, I'm Allegra, can I help you?"

Allegra? How well it fit her. Her voice was as soft as wind chimes on a slow summer day. Her tiny black and white plaid skirt swayed in front of me like a breeze. A girl who can make you think those kinds of thoughts is not to be taken lightly. I looked closer, and I could see that she was not a young girl at all, but a regular adult, like I was supposed to be.