Talk to Me

“You want it?” She says, flashing her bright brown eyes at me.

She says it leaning back between my open legs, my trousers down around my ankles, my tie undone. She’s twenty something, she tells me, but I don’t believe her. I believe that she’s over eighteen, but I think she cherishes her virginity too much.

I’ve been freed. I am announcing my manhood. I can smell her scent, she’s aroused, but she’s cool, even warm and inviting she’s cool, and I have been doubting her honesty ever since I met her.
I put my hand out, lightly trail my fingers between a few brown locks.

“Yes.”


I saw her sitting cross legged at a café - wearing jeans and a t-shirt, rather tame for L.A. The sun was warm, she shone in it, and I got hard as a rock. I was leaning against a car waiting for a friend, but the friend was wasting my time and the girl was there in full view across the street.

She sipped an iced coffee through a straw, occasionally puckering her lips at the cold, and I watched her carefully open up the plastic top, and fish out an ice cube without using her fingers. She worked her tongue around the cup’s lip, until she grabbed the prize, and when she had it, she closed the top again and stared out across the street, her slick ice cube trapped between her perfect teeth.
It glimmered in the sun and she closed her mouth, sucked on it, revealed it again. Her eyes scanned the street, the cars. They landed on me. I did not take my gaze away from her. She closed her mouth, crunched the ice cube to smithereens, and looked back at me mysteriously. She was a mix of frank and vague. I couldn’t tell if she was judging me or interested.

Then she smiled.


I didn’t move. I couldn’t have. At the time, I was afraid she was underage and I didn’t want to risk anything in broad daylight. I was not the type to risk. Though this was L.A., I was the cleaner sort.
She didn’t move for me either. She just continued to sit there, occasionally sipping her iced coffee, gazing back at me. Despite the passing cars, pedestrians, and even a bus or two, our gazes did not move. She held me, trapped, and I had no desire to escape.

The friend came into view and my eyes flickered to him. Her eyes followed. A tiny hint of a smile graced the corners of her mouth revealing dimples. My own mouth began to comply.

The friend crossed the sidewalk smiling at me, reached me, and I turned to greet him. He patted me on the back, said some things. I told him he had me running late, that we needed to get going. He apologized, and went around to the other side. As he got in, I turned to look back at her.
She was still watching, a hint of a smile on her face.


Two weeks later, I sat in my convertible in the sunshine, waiting a block from the café outside a dry cleaner’s, another friend picking up their clothes on the way to the gym. I was tired and had let him do the driving, and was sitting in the passenger seat. My head back on the headrest, my seat belt off, sunglasses on, I dozed.

I felt the car move down with someone else’s weight on my side of the car, and then a warm body - I opened my eyes and lifted my sunglasses to see the girl in shorts and a tank top, who had slipped over my car door and into my lap, and who now sat half on me, half against the door, looking down with that same mysterious smile. I’m wild, her eyes said. I’m tame, her mouth said. My cock was hard against the outside edge of her knee and we both knew it.


I left the friend at the dry cleaner’s. After a moment of staring, neither of us touched, other than to let me get out from under her and slide over to the driver’s side. She then sat down in my place, put on the seat belt, and paid no attention to me as we drove.


I took her the only place I could - home. I realized that might be dangerous, that she could be a psychopathic bitch, but her silence was calming rather than intense. I hoped for the best.

She stepped out of the car without bothering to do the waiting - the prompt for me to be a gentleman and help her out of the car. She leaned back against the car door and waited, as I had for my friend the day we saw each other.

I came around to face her. I stood a foot or so away. She looked at my chest, my tie, and would not meet my eyes.

“Hey,” I said. This drew her eyes up. I smiled. I wanted her to know I wouldn’t hurt her.
Her lips were full and lush, with a little lipgloss. She licked them. She began to smile back, but the smile faded.

“I don’t do this.” Her voice was soft, low, entirely collected, yet horribly vulnerable. She sounded as if she were offering herself up for slaughter, yet at the same time, she was frank. Aware. Aware of the magnitude of what she was doing, the danger.

“Ah,” I replied. I just looked at her. I had not been able to look at her properly in the car - if I had tried, I would have crashed us. I had made myself hold my gaze to the street and the mirrors and to avoid the urge to put my hand between her legs and feel the skin there. She was smooth all over, with little hairs on her legs, she was child-like yet entirely womanly, and I was still concerned about her age.

After a lifetime of standing, with a light swing she fell lightly forward, her forehead butting gently against my chest, her hands grasping my suit sleeves. I felt her glossy hair against my chin, the slight curls. I smelled her. Sweet. Tangy. Fresh.

“Take me inside,” she sighed quietly against my chest, and I felt the heat of her breath through my unbuttoned suit jacket. I swallowed.


She kept a hand tagged onto my suit arm as I walked slowly toward the house. To the door, where I pulled out my keys and then inside. I shut the door, locked it. She watched my hand, followed my every movement.

I turned, walked into the living room. I made for the couch. I sat down. She followed, sliding her legs up onto the cushions, her feet dangling off the edge. Then she heeled them off and slid her socked feet all the way onto the couch, watching me. I stared at her, watching the way her chest rose and fell, the line of her breasts through the soft blue, my eyes on the lines of her face trying to gauge her age.

I finally asked. “How old ...?” I swallowed. A hint of a smile touched her lips again, her large brown eyes trailing from my own, to my chin, to my tie, to my hair.

“Twenty something,” she murmured, and her smile grew wider.

“You’re not lying?”

Her eyes caught mine. They sparkled. I grew harder.

“No.”


I eventually slid out of my jacket, gently laid it over the arm of the couch far away. I sat back down. I was afraid to touch her, to rush her. To scare her away.

“Talk to me,” I said. Her smile came back, growing braver.

“I was going to say the same to you.” Silence. She slid her hand out, and traced the line of my neck. My breath caught. I tried to start it up again inconspicuously, but she heard it. Her smile grew knowing.

“You’re handsome,” she said, and I swallowed. I had been told this type of thing before but I had never been so nervous on hearing it.

“Smooth,” she said, running the backs of her fingers across my brow, so that I closed my eyes, and then trailing it down to my jaw. “And then rough.”

She said the rough with a low sort of barking noise, a play at a bark really, and it was sexy as hell. I swallowed again. I know she heard it, because her smile grew wider.

“Do you like little girls?” She finally murmured, and she eased a little closer, just an inch. My cock was beginning to throb, thrusting against my trousers. I couldn’t dream of lying to her now.

“I don’t touch them, “ I said, but her eyes held mine and on an exhaled breath I whispered, “but I want to.”

Now her smile revealed her sharp little teeth. “Why not?”

I let out a short laugh. “Um, jail?”

She rewarded me with a low chuckle. “What if she wants you to touch her?”

“Lolita?” I asked. She nodded.

Then she said, “She was a fool for walking out on Humbert. She had it made.”

I knew then she wasn’t lying. Twenty-something. And she had pitied Humbert Humbert. She was incredible.

“Would you have stayed?” I asked, my voice low. I couldn’t muster up the strength to make it any louder.

She nodded. Her smile was intoxicating, it came and it went, and now, she lifted her elbow to the edge of the couch and propped her head up. “He was in love with her. She could have taught him things. And he could have taught her.”

I bit my lip. I was trying not to make noises, I didn’t want to unnerve her, but I realized my breathing had grown hectic and that any minute now I’d begin moaning. My cock was tenting my slacks, and I was physical pain - her knees were slid apart, the treasure a hand’s reach away, but any move could scare her. I was not about to force her.

“Will you stay with me?” I asked, my eyes dropping to her breasts. They were large, handfuls, she was all woman. She was emitting a warm, sultry smell and I began to realize that she was horny - her nipples were pressing through her bra, her tank-top, and reaching eagerly for attention. I held my eyes to them, until she followed with her own.

Then, her free hand slid from beside her on the couch to lightly trail across her chest. The teased nipple grew harder. I emitted a tortured sigh.

“Are you this hard?” She asked. Her eyes dropped to my sex. She saw the answer for herself.
I stared at her hand, willing it to travel where I wanted, willing it to free me, to touch me, to give me what I wanted.

“Talk to me,” I suddenly said, my eyes flying from her hand to her face, and what I saw there shook me. She wanted me. Her face was filled with lust. Her tongue tip protruded from between her glistening lips, and her eyes were fixed to my cock, laser beams that willed me to grow harder, larger, want her more.

Yet that same face was in control - she desired but would not fulfill, and I sucked in my breath, grimaced at restraining boxer shorts that held my cock in check. I had run out of all the space available in my crotch.

“What do you want to hear?”

“You. Tell me about you,” I whispered, trying to forget my searching organ, trying to control myself as she was. The heat between us was palpable, we were both turning flushed and languorous, yet she had not moved from where she was - she had come no closer.

“Do you want my name?” She was playful. She released her tongue and smiled with gentle cheekiness. I shook my head.

“Later.”

“Tell me yours?” She was suave, she knew how to handle me - she had done this to men before, driven them wild, deliberately made them want her.

I shook my head again. “Later.”

“Alright,” she sighed, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes slightly in mock assessment. “You want to know how I tick. Right?”

I nodded.

She said, “I’m a virgin.”


A half hour later I was still hard as a rock - it had come and gone, but mostly stayed at attention - and she had driven me mad without barely a touch.

“I love men,” she had murmured, trailing her finger around the edge of my ear, to lightly tug on my ear lobe.

“How do you know, if you’re a virgin?”

“Oh,” she said, a warm, luxurious smile on her face, “I know. The way they smell, the way they look and feel ... in a suit, naked on their back, on their stomach ... wet in the shower ... fast sleep ... they’re beautiful.”

“And you’ve never had one.” A statement. My eyes were closed. I was trying to remain calm, but my cock was ferociously angry at me and wanted satisfaction.

“Brushes. Hints. Kisses. Make-out sessions.”

“No one’s ever put their fingers inside you.”

At this, she emitted a low moan of her own. My eyes flew open, and I turned to look at her. Her lashes were lowered, and she looked at me through them, her eyes glittering. She looked ready to fuck. Ready to be fucked, taken, invaded, to lose her virginity right there. I swallowed, clenched the cushions.

“This is torture,” I said softly, to warn her.

“I know,” she answered, her smile sweet. “Don’t you like it?”

“Very much,” I answered, my eyes on her face, hers on mine. “But there’s only so much a man can take.”

“I know.” She exhaled. Her breath was sweet.


“Please,” I said, eventually, fifteen minutes in. She gave me a low, delicious laugh.
“What are you asking for?”
“Anything you want.”
“Anything I want, what?”
“Anything you want to do to me.”
“More torture.”
“I don’t care. Just talk to me.”


“I have a fascination for cock.”

I let loose a moan and unconsciously rubbed my cock against the inside of my pants to relieve the pressure. She made a warning noise.

“Nuh-uh. Behave.”
“You came to torture me?”
“I came to be with you. I didn’t plan for this.”
“What did you plan for?”
“I didn’t. I saw you in your car and I wanted to get in.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m attracted to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re handsome.”
“That’s it? I’m just a man? You just wanted any man?”
“I wasn’t planning to lose my virginity.”
“Does that mean you’re going to?”
She gave a low laugh. “Eventually.”
“You know what I mean.”
She was silent. Then, “Maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“Then, no.”
“Ah.” I said. I let my head drop back against the cushions. “Then maybe.”


“What’s the fascination for cock?” I asked. Her fingers had reached to loosen my tie and unbutton my top two shirt buttons, and I was now trying to deflect the pressure to grab her as she eased away.
“The word,” she murmured. “It’s a beautiful word.”
“Is it? Why?”
“It’s like the thing itself. Probing. Vowel in the middle is like an open mouth, an open pussy.”

I groaned again at her words.

She said, “I like the way it fills my mouth. Just like a cock would.”
“You want to suck one?”
“Always.”
“You don’t even know how they taste.”
“I know they taste good.”
“Some would say otherwise.”
“A matter of taste. The same goes for pussy.”
“Have you tasted your pussy?”
“Indirectly, yes.”
“Has anyone else?”
“Occasionally.”
“Not often.”
“Rarely.”
“How rarely?”
“I recall in terms of years.”
“Ah. And how do you taste?”
“Sweet, sometimes. Then sometimes ...”
“Spicier.”
“Mmm. Yes.”
“How often do you touch yourself?”
“When I’m not on my period, usually once a day.”
“How do you do it?”
“With my legs spread wide under the covers.”
“Do you make noises?”
“I try not to. Others would hear.”
“Do you fantasize?”
“Always.”
“About what?”
“Nasty things.”
“What kinds of nasty things?”

She leaned closer. Her body kept her distance yet her lips were against my ear and my breathing was so fitful I was beginning to lose my mind. I closed my eyes. I listened closely to our breath, her words, our mingled conversation. The lust in the air. Our lust.

“Women with women,” she murmured in my ear, smiling, and I almost came right there.
“Fuck. Really?”
“Yes. Love making is sexy. Bodies are sexy. Gender doesn’t matter.”
“Would you?”
“Only in my dreams,” she said, lightly, and I let out a frustrated breath.
“What else?”
“Porno. Scenes that really turned me on.”
“Like?”
“Lesbian scenes. When they get really into it and you can tell they’re really getting off and not just acting. When they grunt and groan and make the most unladylike noises. When they fuck like men.”
“Jesus Christ. What else?”
“Men with men.”
“What?” I didn’t open my eyes, but she heard my surprise.
“Gender doesn’t matter. Sex is sex. I love the male body, right?”
“Right.”
“The same way men love the female body and like to see it with itself. Exploring itself.”
“Mmm.” I nodded.
“So, the same with women.”
“That’s fair.”
“Of course.”


Her hand slid down to my crotch while she was talking and I whimpered. I actually whimpered. I pressed myself up against her sliding palm and she again chided me.

“Sit still. Let me touch you.”
“Careful. He’s antsy.”
I could hear her satisfaction in the throaty purr of her voice. “I bet.”

“What else,” I breathed, my pants undone and gaping open, her hand cupping my cock through my briefs. She had decided to partially free me, doing it without warning me and I had been moaning the whole time. The briefs were distended, the shape of my cock corded and defined vividly against the white cotton.
“My mouth filled with cock. My ass filled with cock. My pussy.”
“You’re a slut.”
“It’s a fantasy. Though maybe I am. I wouldn’t really do these things. Unless I were in hell - or heaven. Guilt free.”
“Double penetration.”
Her own moan sounded in my ear. She was still fully clothed, but her breasts were pressing against my arm so she could grip my crotch.
“Yes,” she whispered, and the first slip in her control was audible. I turned slightly, my lips pressed to her jaw.
“I want to fuck the shit out of you,” I murmured, softly.
“Yes,” she answered, but she did not move. She listened.
“I want to fill you to bursting with my cock.”
Her breathing grew deeper. She sucked in my words. “Yes.”
“I want to split you open and make you drip, make you come, make you beg until you’re hoarse.”
“Make me beg?” She murmured.
“Yes, like you’re doing to me now. I want you dripping.” I eased my lips closer to her ear.
“You’re soaking right now, aren’t you? Through your panties.”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed down what I knew to be a whimper. I was making her lose control. I smiled against her ear lobe.
“You want the shit fucked out of you, don’t you? You want to be a little slut. You want that pussy opened wide, you want you want you want–“
She squeezed my cock through the cotton and then stroked it, a flash of pain then pleasure, and I choked on my words, cursed against her ear. I held very still, not sure of what she would do.
“Let me out,” I murmured, suddenly brave. Her hand remained still.
“See what you want so badly. Are you a coward?” I prodded. Her lips were parted against my ear, her breathing heavy, fitful, and I could see her on her back, talking the same shit and begging for more.
“Are you?”


She finally took a deep breath and said, her voice steadier, “Yes.”
“Why?” I whispered against her flesh. She shivered, and I pulsed against her hand. She shivered again.
“I don’t know you.”
“So?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Face your fear.”
“You could hurt me.”
“I won’t hurt you. You’re the one with all the power.”
“I’m locked in your house. You could rape and kill me.”
“But I won’t. But if you like rape, we can do that, too.”
She sucked in her breath and suddenly I knew that would be something that would turn her on, if done right. I pressed my lips to her jaw and breathed. She sighed.
“You want someone to rough you up.”
“Maybe.” Her voice was tiny.
“You want to be taken, forced, bruised.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop playing around then and let me inside.”
“No.” She took a breath and started to pull away.
I quickly pressed my lips back to her ear and said, “Do anything you want to me. Don’t stop.”


She liked power play. I understood this when she acquiesced. I verbally gave her power and she forgave me.
“Your cock is so hot,” she whispered, and she returned her lips to my burning ear.
“Not so hot as when you feel it inside you,” I said, and she shuddered.
“I’ll fill every hole,” I promised, my breath soft, my words low. “I’ll make you come for hours. I’ll fuck you until you ache. I’ll make you cry.”
“You just want what you want,” she said suddenly, her voice sobering.
“And you want what you want,” I replied. Then: “What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know. Say it.”


She leaned closer, and squeezed me lightly, and this time I shuddered. The anticipation was too much, I was losing my mind. But for her, I held on.
“I want to taste you,” she murmured.
I exhaled on a groan.
“I want to run my tongue around your head and tease the hole with the tip.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiled against my ear lobe, nuzzling downward. Her tongue flickered out and teased my lobe. I sucked in air.
“I’ll hold just the tip in my mouth and taste you. I’ll run my tongue around the head ...”
“Yes ...”
There was a sudden cold chill of air as she tugged on the edge of my strained briefs and set me free. I stood tall, thrusting against the air for just a moment, and she stared at me, her eyes seeming to suck on it, and I made a sound of pleasure pain. Her hand suddenly grasped me, and my cock burned against her palm.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, her eyes absorbed with my weapon. “Jesus Christ.”


She stared down at me and didn’t move. I held my breath. She panted.

Her eyes then moved to mine and I held them, sought them, looked deep into them and saw the fear she mentioned, buried deep. She was new to this. She was afraid. But she wanted it. She had been wanting it forever.

“Kiss me,” she said, and I leaned forward, sharply, and pressed my lips to hers. She gasped, opened, and I dove in, my tongue stealing, searching, freed at last, and sucked air from her, tongued her senseless. She let me, she melted, she froze in midair, her hand on my ramrod straight cock, and then, suddenly, her fingers moved, began to stroke, and I groaned, with my hands reaching around her to crush her to me, to pull her to me, our lips and teeth and tongues smacking, sucking, slurping.
She tore herself away for air and then rose. She stared down at me and I stared up at her.

“I want you,” she said. She looked stricken. Helpless. Desiring yet afraid.
I gave her her answer.
“I want you.”


Like a loving wife, she eased my pants down around my legs to my ankles. She did the same with my briefs. My cock is spearing the air and she has been torn between it and my face, the pleasure she sees there, the desire. She knows I know she wants me, wants my cock.

She now kneels fully dressed between my thighs and asks me the question. She knows the answer. She is asking herself.

“You want it?” Her eyes sparkle. She is ready to dive.
“Yes.”


©.2001, Miriam M. Wynn
http://www.worderotic.com