Biscuits

Jon vs. Angry Birds

2011-07-31T12:00:00.000-04:00

Somewhere over the Atlantic…

“Die you fucker!” David yelled as Richie burst into laughter.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Jon asked, looking across the plane’s cabin at David and Richie, who had their heads together over David’s iPad.

“Killing fucking pigs, man,” David said. “The smug little bastards under the ice bridge can’t escape my triple blue-birds of DEATH!”

“Kill that mustached fucker,” Richie said, leaning in closer to David and grabbing for the computer. “He looks suspicious.”

“I got it, I got it,” David answered, jerking the iPad away from Richie. He poked the very tip of his tongue between his teeth as he drew back the slingshot again.

“Seriously, guys,” Jon said. “Angry Birds? You’re playing Angry Birds? What are you, like twelve?”

“Man,” Richie said, flicking an impatient hand at Jon. “Everyone’s playing this game. It’s seriously addicting. You lose all track of – YES! Nice one D! Gonna go for three stars?”

“Naw,” David said. “It’s good enough that all the fuckers are dead.”

“Guys, GUYS!” Jon yelled, and then shook his head. They weren’t listening anymore.

Really, though, Angry Birds? He slid his iPhone from his jacket pocket and accessed the App Store. “At least I’m only wasting 99 cents,” he mumbled to himself as he tapped the ‘purchase’ button.

He stuffed his ear-buds in and started the app. The music made him grimace. That was definitely a tune that could get stuck in his head if he wasn’t careful. He'd be whistling that shit for days if he let it get to him. “This doesn’t look too hard,” he said to himself.

One lone pig sat in the middle of a tower. Jon smiled. The thing was kinda cute in a creepy cartoon pig kind of way. It blinked and twitched its nose – and chuckled. That was pretty funny actually. Alright, time to kill the cute, creepy, cartoon, egg-stealing-sonofabitching pig.

He drew back the loaded slingshot and let the bird go.

CRASH!

SUCCESS! The pig was down! 30,000 points!

“Two stars?” Jon muttered to himself. “NO fucking way. I only used one bird. There’s no bonus for that? Fuck that.” He reset the level and tried again. “Son of a BITCH!” he said out loud.

Richie looked over at Jon and nudged David. “Look,” he said, hitching a chin in Jon’s direction. “Look at the concentration on his face.”

David laughed. “Oh, this game is gonna piss him off good,” he said. “How much you wanna bet he sits there doing the same level over and over again until he gets three stars?”

Richie shook his head. “No bet,” he said.

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me, you black-eyed, no-toothed green pig-fucker,” Jon muttered.

Reset.

He drew back the slingshot and let the red bird fly again. “FUCK!” he shouted, when he got the same score. He looked up, guiltily. He saw David and Richie weren’t paying any attention to him but shifted a little bit away from them anyway.

Reset.

Pull, release, CRASH!

“Hah! Eat that, bacon. Three fucking stars.”

Three Hours Later…

Richie had long since grown bored of listening to Jon get pissed at the pigs, but thought it was funny that he was getting so worked up over a game. Thinking back to the Rock Band fiasco, he supposed he should have seen it coming. David was asleep, reclined back in his plush seat. He checked his watch. “He’s been playing for three hours?” he said to himself. “Hey Jon, want something from the kitchen, play some cards or something?” Jon didn’t hear him. Richie shrugged and wandered back to the galley for a snack.

“I got ninety-seven-fucking-thousand! How is that good for only two stars?” Jon yelled. His fingers were cramped but he didn’t care. He made it all the way to the 8^th level, with three stars on everything, and he wasn’t giving up now. He glanced out the window. Still ocean as far as he could see. He still had time.

Reset.

“A hundred-twenty-fucking-thousand. That’s better. Stupid green pig-fucks.”

Two Hours Later…

There was land underneath him. Boston, if he wasn’t mistaken. Only a short time to go before they landed. “Oh, I tapped the fucking white bird, you piece of shit. Drop the fucking egg-bomb.”

Stop. Reset.

There was a sharp stabbing sensation radiating from the middle of his spine out to his shoulder blades. His left leg was asleep, and he was pretty sure he had to pee. He knew if he moved, he’d REALLY have to pee, and he just HAD to master this level first.

“One more try,” he said, as he pulled the slingshot back.

“Wait, one star for a-hundred-something-thousand? I don’t think so. Fuck.” He looked around the cabin of the jet. David was sleeping with his mouth open; Richie was nowhere to be found – probably in the kitchen. Tico hadn’t left his spot on the couch in the front of the cabin, sleeping like the dead from the moment they took off.

Excellent.

No distractions.

Reset.

One Hour Later…

“Jon, this is the captain, we’ll be landing in New York soon. I’m sending Elise through to gather your glasses and leftovers, and to make sure you’re all belted up for landing. Welcome home.”

“No, wait, I’ve almost got it,” he said. He was bent over nearly double, so the little cord that tethered his iPhone to his computer would keep the power going. And so his bladder wouldn't start leaking all over the plane. He had mostly worked past having to pee, but he couldn’t feel his ass anymore, and wasn't taking any chances.

“Jon, you need to sit up for landing,” Elise said as she passed his seat. He didn’t hear her, so she touched his shoulder.

“What?” he snarled, ripping his ear buds out. Elise arched an eyebrow at him and just gave him a look. “Sorry,” he said, straightening up. The movement moved something around in his bladder, and he started to sweat. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. “How long until we land?” He stuffed his iPhone into his jacket, and slid his laptop back into its case.

“Another fifteen minutes,” Elise answered, clearing up Richie’s snack.

Jon unclipped his belt and hobbled, knees practically pressed together, toward the head. “I only need a few.”

“The captain can’t land until you’re seated,” she admonished.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon said, as he locked himself into the cubicle. As he braced a hand over the plane’s commode and took care of business, he rotated his head, stretching out his neck. The moment he closed his eyes, he saw them. Pigs in a river boat. Giant mutant red birds that knock into everything. The ridiculous boomerang birds that pissed him the fuck off and made the stupidest noses EVER.

Shit, he’d been playing the game so long he was seeing it even when he closed his eyes. Addicting was right. Damn.

Still, his hand pushed back from the wall and his fingers inched toward his pocket.

He’s still got a few seconds.

A knock at the door startled him, and he almost dropped his phone in the toilet. “Fuck!” he growled. “What?”

“We need to land,” Elise said. “Get back to your seat and buckle up or I’m sending David in there after you.”

“Okay, okay,” Jon said, flushing then rinsing his hands. He opened the door and gave Elise a look. “You would really send David in after me?” he said, giving her The Look.

“No,” she said, a smug smile creeping across her face. “But the threat of it worked, didn’t it? Now please, go sit DOWN.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and turned back for his seat.

Whistling.

The theme to the damned game.

Even before he sat down he slid his phone from his pocket and waited.

The Ducky Bus

2010-07-03T01:00:00.000-04:00

After Jon mentioned in that interview that he’d probably die by being hit by a Ducky Bus (I love how he said the word ‘ducky’ with such disdain – it made me smile) I had a wild thought. Then I put it away. Then, in one of those torrential email downpours that we girls are wont to drown in, I floated the outline for the ending, saying that I should sit down and write it over lunch to see if I could still get the words out. They said hell yeah. So I started it at lunchtime. Finished it by dinner.

The sky was a cloudless blue on this crisp spring London day. Jon smiled as he looked out the window of his penthouse suite. The city wasn't quite awake yet, he thought, perfect time for a stroll. There were few things Jon loved more than getting himself lost in one of his favorite cities.

Donning his ubiquitous ball cap and sunglasses, he swiped a toothbrush across his smile, grabbed his room key, and stepped out into the hall. It was quiet, which was good. There wasn’t anyone else on the floor but his people, but they were exactly who he wanted to avoid just now. He’d have enough of them later. He rode down in the service elevator to the kitchen, and stopped to flirt with one of he pretty prep cooks who was bustling around, trying to start her day.

After stealing a kiss, he made his way out into the impossibly bright sunshine. The few pedestrians out and about were all busy with their own thoughts, nobody paid him any attention. It was refreshing to just relax and take in the city without having to be ‘on’ the whole time.

As he strolled around, enjoying the sights and smells of the city, the sun rose higher in the sky. Jon shook his head ruefully to himself. Soon enough, the streets would come alive, with people getting back and forth to work, or going about their normal daily business.

Normal.

His version of ‘normal’ was enough to make even a saint cry. He figured if saints can bleed, they can cry, right? He thought so. He reached for his iPhone, and was chagrinned to find that he had left it behind. That wasn’t like him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was out on the streets without some sort of technological companion. Shrugging, he ran down his mental to-do list, and laughed when his stomach announced that “find breakfast” was the first thing on the list.

Checking for traffic on the street corner, he frowned when he saw not a car in sight. Odd. Well there was one car. Or truck. Lorrie. Whatever. It was far in the distance, though, a mere shadow on the horizon, and Jon stepped off the curb.

Almost immediately, a horn blared. An annoying ah-OOH-gah kind of horn. Over and over again. Startled ,he goose-stepped across he street and turned back to see a little old man driving what had to be the oldest running car on the planet.

What the hell? He would have sworn that the car wasn’t there when he looked.

“Stupid American!” the man shouted. “You looked the wrong way!”

Shit.

“Hey, you could have slowed down, asshole!” Jon called back, slashing at the air with his arm. He frowned when the little man scowled, extended a long arm out the window, and raised his middle finger in salute. With a little burst of speed, and another tap of the ah-OOH-gah, he was gone.

“Daffy bastard,” Jon growled.

He walked the length of the next block, and didn’t encounter a single pedestrian. Not a one. Odd. This time, when he came to the corner, he looked both ways (and behind him too, for good measure) and didn’t see anything. Well, nothing close. That strange truck-shadowy vehicle was still in the distance, though now it was closer.

At the next intersection, again he looked, and again, he saw that shadow-car. This time, it was close enough that he could discern the shape. It was one of those touristy vehicles. The amphibious kind that tours the city then splashes down into the river for a little cruise. He couldn’t remember what they were called, but for some reason, he felt a bit uneasy.

“You’re weak from lack of sustenance, asshole,” he said out loud. “I thought there was a bakery around here somewhere.”

“There is,” Richie said, from his side. “Just a couple blocks u.”

Jon jumped. “Damn, man, where did you come from?”

Richie smiled. “Man, I’ve been following you. You know that old guy nearly ran your ass over.”

“You’re following me? Why?”

His friend shrugged. “No reason, I guess. It was just something to do. You really should be more careful with what you say to people you don’t really know, man.”

“Well, his attitude pissed me – hey! How did you know I mouthed off to him?” Jon was confused. “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m a fuckin’ ninja, man. I’m keeping tabs on the boss. Don’t want our CEO to get into any trouble or anything.”

“Fuck you and the CEO shit. And are you that bored that you have to follow me for ‘just something to do’? Clearly you don’t have enough to keep you busy. Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast, then your BOSS can give you a list of shit to get done.” He looked at his watch and waited for Richie to make some remark about food. He ALWAYS had something to say whenever he brought up eating.

No answer.

Jon looked up to find Richie gone.

“What the fuck?” he said, craning his neck to the left and right, spinning all the way around in a circle. “Where’d you go, Sambora?” Not even a breeze answered him.

“He’s a big fucking dude,” Jon muttered to himself. “He couldn’t have just disappeared.” He walked up the block a few steps and tried the door of the shop.

Locked.

“No fucking way,” Jon said. “Not possible. People don’t just vanish.”

A few moments later, he had a new problem to worry about.

He stepped out into the street without looking, and heard a great loud QUACK! The vehicle he had seen in the distance was suddenly behind him, almost on top of him in fact.

“FUCK!” Jon screamed, and tried to jump back, but found he couldn’t. For some reason, the command his brain sent to his feet to jump got translated into something else.

Run.

So he ran.

Jon ran down the middle of the road as fast as he could, with the damned duck boat behind him. As if he were on a string, he followed the line down the center of the road, never turning left or right. He thought of diving for cover in one of the many shops that lined the street, but when he looked to his left, all the doors and windows were gone, replaced by steel plates. When he looked to the right, he saw that the sidewalks were gone as well.

There were no alleyways.

No side streets.

“What the foul fuck is going on here?”

“YOU’RE FUCKED, JON,” a voice said from the vehicle behind him. QUACK!

The voice sounded like Richie’s but it didn’t give him any relief to know that. “What the blue hell are you talking about?” he yelled as he ran.

“YOU. FUCKED.” Richie said, louder than before. “PRETTY SELF-EXPLANATORY, BOSS.” QUACK! QUACK!

“Boss?” Jon yelled. “Are you still pissed about those stupid questions? I told you guys it didn’t mean anything. Why are you doing this?” Jon threw back over his shoulder as he ran.

“JUST SOMETHING TO DO, BOSS; JUST SOMETHING TO DO.” Richie’s maniacal laughter rolled over the static that came through the speaker and chilled Jon to the bone.

The vehicle came ever closer.

QUACK!

“Fuck me,” Jon said, trying to run harder, panting for breath, slowing a little as his muscles screamed for oxygen. “I really am going to be killed by a damned Ducky Bus.”

* * *

"FUCK!" Jon sat bolt upright, moisture beading on his forehead in the cool hotel room. His heart was pounding to beat the band, and his hand actually shook as he brought it up to push through his thick, sweaty hair.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Shit, no more drinking tequila," he grumbled as he slid from the bed. He stretched deeply, relishing the little pops and cracks his spine made. "Damn, that feels good," he said, massaging his lower back. He sat back down on the bed with a whump and stretched his neck, touching each of his ears to his shoulders. He flopped back onto the mattress and snatched up the phone receiver, punching the button for room service.

"Coffee. Two pots. Black and strong." He hung up without waiting for acknowledgement.

He linked his fingers together behind his head and stared at the ceiling, waiting for his go-juice to arrive. As the shadows in the room lightened, his mind brought him back to the dream. He was tired, that's all, he thought to himself. They all were. That 60-Minutes interviewer didn’t help; bringing up all that shit about how Richie and the guys were "disgruntled employees; mere cogs in the Jovi Machine". He snorted. He marveled at how his brain refused to let shit go, even when he slept.

Finally, the discreet knock at the door he'd been waiting for. He stood, wrapping the hotel's plush robe around his naked body, and made it to the door in five long strides. After looking through the peep hole to confirm it was indeed room service, something he learned the hard way was ALWAYS a good idea, he opened the door.

"Over by the window, thanks," he said, and waited for the man to leave.

Jon poured a steaming hot mugful and brought it up under his nose, inhaling deeply. "Ah, perfection," he said, taking a small sip. He waited a few moments for some of the heat to dissipate before taking a bracing mouthful. Then a second. And a third. He waited for the shock of the high-octane brew to kick-start his ass. He reached over to the drapes, pulling them aside.

The sky was a cloudless blue on this crisp spring London day. Jon smiled as he looked out the window of his penthouse suite. The city wasn't quite awake yet, he thought, perfect time for a stroll. He shook his head at the chill that accompanied the déjà vu. “No,” he said to himself. “No, it was just a fucking dream you piece of fuck.”

He plunked down his mug, sloshing hot coffee over the sides, and sucked the drops from his hand as he made a bee-line for the bathroom. After a quick shower to wash the morning’s sweat off him, he dressed in loose jeans and a faded pale green long-sleeved tshirt. He filled his over-sized travel mug with the untouched pot of coffee, stuffed his bare feet into his sneakers, grabbed his room key, and looked at the ball cap and sunglasses on the entry table. He turned his back on them and was at the door when he rolled his eyes at himself, went back to the table and snatched up the damned things. Sometimes having a creative mind was a pain in the ass.

Jon thought a moment of mentioning something to Richie, but no, he knew his best friend would ride his ass forever and quack at him for days if he said anything. As it was, after that interview aired, David had bought dozens of ridiculous red rubber ducks. Their bottoms were shaped like the double-decker tour busses that carry tourists around the streets of London. David had someone tie little nooses around their necks, and hang them all over his dressing room. Richie had cackled like a fucking loon when he came to see what Jon was ranting about.

Asses. Both of them.

Jon left the floor, choosing to use the elevator that would take him down to the kitchens. He snuck out the back, not seeing Richie loitering around, bothering the pretty lady who was their personal chef this month. He checked the alley and ducked out into the sunshine, glad he had brought his shades. He walked up to the top of the block, turned south, and relaxed. There was just something about taking the time to walk around, rather than drive, that helped him think. Not having to worry about talking to himself and having his driver give him the hairy eyeball through the rear-view. Not having to worry about how he’s a right-sided driver in a left-sided country, and how people here don’t expect to get run down by cars going the wrong way through a round-about. Not having to worry about the congestion of traffic.

Yep, sometimes, hoofing it was the way to go.

Three blocks up, he turned, following the scent of freshly baked bread. He took another swig of coffee as his stomach started to growl. He really should put something else in his gullet besides caffeine. A buttered roll would be just the thing. He knew he needed the carbs – he’d need energy for later. He could see the bakery’s awning poking out from a building about three blocks away.

Smiling inwardly, he picked up his pace, and started to whistle. He didn’t register the sounds coming from behind him. He didn’t see the shadow rushing up to overtake his own. But, when an enormous QUACK sounded, he jumped a mile and spun around, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to get away.

He backed up away from the noise, and it was a few seconds before the haze of fear lifted, and he saw the grinning maw of his best friend.

“What the fuck man,” Jon said, laughing at himself even as his heart thumped out a staccato beat in his chest.

“Oh you should have seen the look on your face, bro,” Richie said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. “I got you good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon answered, shaking his head. “C’mon, asshole, I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“The big boss buyin’ breakfast for the lowly employee?”

“Shove that shit, Rich,” Jon said, irritably. “You wanna eat or what.”

“Yeah,” Richie answered amiably. “I could eat.”

“When can’t you. Why’d you do that anyway? What the fuck did I do to you lately?”

Richie shrugged. “Nothin’. It was just something to do.”

He didn’t notice the look of shock on Jon’s face as he continued up the block.

Jon stared after his friend for just a moment before continuing. He looked down at the sidewalk, then back up, just in time to catch sight of the back-end of an amphibious vehicle disappear behind a building.

Jon shook his head and followed Richie into the bakery. “It was just a fucking dream, Jon,” he said to himself. “Just a fucking dream.”

** THE END **

Happy Anniversary

2010-04-18T00:38:00.000-04:00

Tonight, it was time for more TwitterPorn. This was broken up into ~140 character posts.

He was sprawled there on the bed, naked as a jaybird. He was breathtaking; from the unruly mop of brown hair down to his, well, other unruly mop of brown hair. He was gorgeous all the way down those long, muscled legs to the perfectly proportioned feet splayed on the mattress. He was glorious, and the way his eyes tracked my progress across the room, he thought I was glorious, too. Still. After all this time.

He parted his luscious lips to speak, but I held up a single finger, silencing his words. His lips closed and curled up in a delicious grin.

"Not a single word," I rasped, my voice gritty with passion. "Save your voice for groaning my name."

I strode toward him, my intent clear. He heeded my words, waiting until I had sunk onto him and braced my hands on his wide, strong chest to find his voice.

"Oh, damn. Try not to kill me, darlin'," he moaned.

"Never, baby," I cooed. "I'm not done with you yet. Not by half."

Still, after all these years, the feel of him inside me is magical. The way he reaches all the way to my soul with every stroke.

The way he twitches, just a little, if I lean back just so.

The way his eyes never quite close when we make love; like he can't stand to have me out of his sight for even a moment.

He makes me feel special. He makes me feel loved.

And right now, at this very moment, he makes me feel like my entire being, my entire life, has been lived for this very moment. I have existed only to be here....now....with him. Every time is like that. I watch, transfixed, as lust and hunger fill his face. I feel him tensing beneath me, his legs growing restless.

His hands at my hips mark me again, branding me as his. He hastens my movements over him, but it is not enough. I drop my head back, letting my hair tickle his thighs. The raw growl tearing from his throat was the only warning I had. In a heartbeat, he had me flipped beneath him, pinned under his body. He roughly pinned my arms above my head with one hand and traced gently down my face with his other.

"I love you," he said; his voice thick with emotion.

"Oh God, I love you, Rich," I groaned; my back arching under him, bending to take him deeper.

He released my arms, and I reached up to wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer to me.
His chest burned where it touched me; his sweat cooled the burn as it slicked over me. I pulled him down, pulling his whole weight atop me. His hips still moved; still drilled me into the mattress. The wonderful rush of warmth was only a few moments away.

His and mine.

He rolled us again, letting me set the pace. I slowed the dance, wanting to make it last. He cheated, as he is wont to do, reaching for my breasts; rolling the tight pink buds between his clever fingers. One pinch, a slight twist, and the dance is done. I scream my release, shuddering around him before drooping bonelessly to his chest.

Snarling at his missed timing, he rolls us again, and we run out of mattress. He just barely manages to get under me as we land, and when he rolls this time, I feel the plush carpet under my back. I reach behind me to grab the base of the nightstand. He reaches behind him for my ankles.

His pace quickens; the rhythmic slapping of our bodies and our mixed panting breaths are the only sounds in the room. A low rumble starts low in his chest. He let it slip out a little at a time, until the roar of his release is deafening. I clamp down on him, seeing stars swimming before my eyes. He's hazy now; a wonderfully sexy hazy vision.

With a grunt, he pulls away from me and drops to the rug beside me. He cradles me to his chest, stroking my hair away from my forehead. He whispers soft nonsense into my ear, calming me with his voice. We lay there for a long time, until we are chilled by the evening air.

"Darlin'," he whispers, "we should get back into bed." He winces a little as he crawls to his feet and gently helps me up, steadying me.

We slip back in between the covers, and I settle into the warm comfort of his embrace.

"Goodnight, my love," I say to him, nestling against him and smiling contentedly.

"Happy Anniversary, baby," he answers, and follows me into sleep.

Backstage Special

2009-07-03T00:26:00.001-04:00

He's got you pressed against the wall, one long, tall leg braced between yours, pressing into the ache... He leans in to kiss you sweetly, teasing, tasting, testing. The kisses turn. You're not exactly sure at what moment they turned, but before you know it, his tongue is in your mouth, his hand on your breast, and he's sucked all the air out of your lungs. His other hand snakes slowly down over the gentle curve of your hip to settle on your ass, and squeezes...hard...marking you as his. It cups you through the thin cotton of your shorts pulling you tight against him; his leg now replaced with something better, harder. You stretch up on tiptoe to rub yourself where the ache is fiercest, but it is not enough.

You break the kiss that is searing your soul to growl one word: "Now." It's all he needs to hear.

His hands are gentle as they travel from wherever they are to your waist; gentler still as they lower your shorts. Yours aren't nearly as gentle as they wage war with his belt buckle. With a feral snarl you tear it from its loops and pull at the buttons of his fly. You shove and push and muscle the tight denim down just far enough for your hand to reach in and touch him. Finally. Skin to skin. A purely feminine sigh escapes you as he tests your readiness with an eager hand. You once again rise on tiptoe but this time it's to let him slide home.

He pushes slowly, allowing you to adjust to his invasion. When you whimper he knows you're ready. With an arrogant grin he flexes his hips, just a little, before possessing your mouth once more. You grip his waist, returning the bruises he left on your ass. You pull him in closer, tighter to you so not a breath is between you.

With each passing moment, the heat is rising between you; in you. Burning. Pusling. A living thing unto itself. You can’t take the sweet torture anymore and demand more, pressing against him as he moves within you. The extra friction is enough.

He swallows your cry as you shudder in his arms. A moment later, his triumphant shout is muffled by your mouth, but no less potent.

As your breathing returns to normal, and you straighten your clothes, the realization of what just happened hits you. The knock at the door makes you jump, for you’ve forgotten where you are.

“Two minutes, Jon,” a voice calls.

He smiles at you then, a devastating, heartbreaking smile. He leans in to kiss you again, and tucks a lock of mussed hair behind your ear. “What’s your name, baby?” he asks.

You shake your head. He just rolls his eyes.

“Then where are you sitting, baby?” he asks you.

“Front row, just left of center.” Your voice is huskier than you would have thought possible.

Jon smiles and looks around for a moment, then grabs a notebook from his dressing table. He makes an adjustment to something after looking at your wrist.

He nods at it. “What group are you in?”

“Third,” you answer on a breath.

“Outstanding. I will see you later. Do you like to dance?”

Thanks, KiwiHo, for the name :)

The Interview

2009-05-26T12:27:00.003-04:00

Note, I’ve taken some liberties with what record is coming out this year lol

“No, I won’t do it.” Madeline Taylor rolled her eyes at herself as her heart sped up. She muted the speakerphone and cursed herself out for being stupid. She was a professional, for Christ’s sake. “Jon, I don’t have time for this.” She applied the last of her makeup and nodded at her reflection. Flawless, as usual. She sighed, she needed to get Jon off the phone or she was going to be late.

“C’mon, Maddie, you HAVE to do this. I’ve been hinting to him for weeks that you want to do the interview.”

“I don’t HAVE to do anything,” Madeline countered. “And don’t blame me for you running your mouth, John-boy. This is my profession you want to play with. It’s like me asking you to come do drunken karaoke with me.” She blotted her ruby-red lipstick, her trademark. “Not gonna happen.”

“Madeline. Mad-dog. Linny. Sweetheart, please. I’ll even pay for you to fly out to LA.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Jon,” Madeline said, laughing at the way he pulled out all her old nicknames, “or I’ll tell Dorothea on you.” She sighed. “And I could pay my own way, thank you very much, but it isn’t going to happen. And now, if you don’t get off my phone, I’m going to be late for the White House. And so are you. You know it is impolite to keep the President waiting.”

“The President will never know the difference, and will probably be late himself,” Jon said. He waited her out. Finally, he was rewarded with a sigh.

“Look, I’ll think about it, okay?” Madeline could practically see Jon preening on the other end of the phone.

Jon mimicked her sigh. “I guess that’ll do for now,” he conceded. “But I’m going to try again at dinner, you know that, right?”

“Oh hell, you’re at my table, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Jon had gotten an invitation to attend the White House’s Correspondents’ dinner. He was seated at the ABC table with Madeline, the premier entertainment reporter in New York. Nothing was cool, hip, or now that didn’t have Maddie’s stamp of approval. Everything from movies to theater to art to music – nothing was outside her realm. It was only right that she’d interview Richie, now that he was finally putting the finishing touches on his third solo album.

She had always made it a point to set up interviews when it was just Jon available. The other guys joked with him that Maddie had a crush on him. Jon brushed them off, citing their long history as the reason she was more comfortable just speaking with him. He knew damned well that she had a crush on his best friend. But still, she was a professional, she should be able to put that aside. This was important to Richie.

“That’s alright,” Jon said, “we can just have a nice dinner together; catch up on old times.”

The sarcasm dripping off the ‘old times’ remark wasn’t lost on Madeline. “Jesus, Jon, I do NOT want to relive high school, thank you very much!” She sighed again. “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me. BIG time.”

“Deal.”

“Shit.”

* * * * *

Richie was fiddling with the bridge in one of his songs when his cell phone rang. He ignored it, swearing at himself for not turning the fucking thing off. He knew that his family, Jon and the guys included, would never call him when he was working. If it was an emergency, they’d call on the land-line. He could ignore his cell without feeling guilty. He smiled absently when the ringing stopped.

A few minutes later the phone started to ring again. “Son of a bitch,” Richie growled. He carefully set down the Ovation he was working with and stood, pulling the offending device from his pocket. “What?” he asked, practically snarling at the caller.

“Good afternoon,” the caller said cheerfully, totally unfazed by his rudeness. It was a young woman’s voice Richie heard, and he was annoyed that he couldn’t place her. Sighing, he dropped back into his chair to deal with the caller. Then he’d turn off his cell and maybe be able to get some work done.

“Hello,” Richie started again. “Who’s this?”

“This is Angela Bradford, Madeline Taylor’s assistant. Is this Mr. Sambora?”

“It is,” Richie said, intrigued.

“Wonderful. Please hold for Ms. Taylor.” Richie heard a buzz, and soft jazz played for just a moment before the esteemed Madeline Taylor came on the line. Richie sat up straighter in his chair. Really? Madeline Taylor?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sambora,” Madeline said.

“Ms. Taylor,” Richie answered.

“Thank you for taking time to talk to me, Mr. Sambora.” She never took the liberty of using first names until invited to do so. She showed that small measure of respect to every artist, actor, and director she had ever interviewed, and had done since she was a junior reporter for Page Six. Plus, keeping her distance meant she could keep some modicum of professionalism when all she wanted to do was sigh and swoon at the sound of his voice.

“Ms. Taylor, please, call me Richie,” Richie said. “Jon said you might be calling. It’s distinctly my pleasure.”

“Richie, then, it’s wonderful to speak with you again,” Madeline said. “And please, call me Madeline.” The velvety-soft tones of her voice evaporated the last of his anger at being interrupted. “What’s it been, fifteen years?”

“Something like that,” Richie answered. “I think Jon always wanted to do the talking when you’ve come calling.” He chuckled. “It was almost as if he didn’t want us talking to you.”

“Yes,” Madeline answered, and Richie would swear he could hear her smiling. “I did always speak with Jon. But now you have a new record coming out.”

“I do,” Richie said proudly.

Madeline smiled to herself, hearing the grin in his voice. She could picture his eyes crinkling and the flash of dimples. Get a hold of yourself, woman, she said to herself. “Listen, I would love to talk to you about your record and your tour plans for when it’s released. I’ll be out your way soon; what is your schedule like in the next couple of weeks?”

“Busy,” Richie said, “but not to busy for lunch with a beautiful woman.”

“Now Richie,” Madeline said blushing and inwardly screaming in delight, “you know that giving me compliments will not influence the way I write you up, right? I don’t spin the answers I get.”

“I know, I know, but we could still do lunch. How’s next Thursday sound?”

Madeline looked at her calendar. “Perfect. I can do one o’clock. Where should we meet?”

“You could come out here, if it isn’t too much trouble. Magda is a wonderful cook, and we can talk without interruption.”

“Perfect,” Madeline said, though inside she was shaking. If there was nobody to overhear their conversation, there was a chance she’d go stupid. She’d have to make sure there was no possible way this could bite her in the ass later. “Next Thursday it is. See you then; I’m looking forward to it.”

* * * * *

They had settled on the deck, overlooking acres of landscaped beauty. Magda had served up a delicious pasta primavera, and then disappeared discreetly into the house. So far, Madeline thought, the interview was going quite well. Richie played some of the finished tracks for her and she asked thoughtful, insightful questions about the lyrical content. No swooning at all. Maybe she could pull this off. She smiled and took another sip of her wine, wondering when her glass been refilled. She could have sworn it was nearly empty a moment ago. She asked more questions of Richie who seemed to be always in motion. His hands were constantly moving, and she could see his leg bouncing up and down as well.

“So, you seem a little antsy. Are you anxious about the release?” Madeline waited while Richie forked up another bite of his pasta.

“A little,” he admitted, though that wasn’t why he was fidgety. From the moment she walked into his foyer, he wanted to dig his fingers into her up-do and release those mahogany tresses from their bindings. He thought he had tamped down those thoughts, but apparently they were making him twitchy, and Ms. Taylor was more than a little perceptive. He’d have to try harder to mask his attraction to her. “This is only my third solo effort, and the first one in over ten years.” He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, getting his libido under control. “So yeah, I’m a little anxious. I mean, I know the music is good, so I’m not worried about that. I do care what the fans think, though. I really want them to like it.”

“And what of the critics?” Madeline asked, winking.

Richie chuckled. “I really don’t care what the critics say...”

Madeline said nothing, just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” Richie laughed. “I care. It’s not like there’s something else for me to fall back on, you know?”

Madeline laughed along with him. “You mean there wasn’t anything you wanted to do besides play music? No other aspirations?”

“Well, at one point, I really wanted to be a doctor,” Richie said, then winked. “But I can’t stand the sight of blood!”

She smiled. “A doctor, huh? And here I thought Jonny had the save-the-world complex.” She steepled her fingers and tapped them against her pursed lips. “I would imagine the sight of you decked out in scrubs is something to behold,” she said, surprising herself. Damn that wine. But, in for a penny, in for a pound, as her father liked to say. “I could just imagine you giving some poor woman a heart attack as you strolled into the room.”

Richie choked on a laugh. “You’re probably right,” he said, his heart pounding wildly.

She smiled wickedly. “I’m sure you would have had no trouble at all getting her to take off her clothes.”

Was she flirting with him? He motioned for her to lean in close, like he wanted to tell her a secret. “I don’t have that trouble now, darlin’.”

Now it was Madeline’s turn to laugh. His voice was delicious in her ear. “Touché, Richie. So tell me, are you going to tour this record?” She was back to business, and Richie wondered if he imagined her reaction to him.

Madeline was dong her best to keep her color and breathing even. Her flirting was incredibly wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. If she wasn’t very, very careful, she could irreparably damage her reputation and ruin her career. Dammit, though, she wasn’t quite immune to Richie’s charms, and when he leaned in to mumble in her ear, she felt it clear down to her panties. Maybe the sexy leading questions weren’t the right ones to do – it would appear that Richie wouldn’t mind a little banter. She had to cool herself down.

“Yeah, I’m planning on a tour,” Richie said, taking Madeline’s lead and being all business again. “I’ll probably do something small, just a few months, like I did for Stranger. You know, just to get it out there; to stand behind it, so to speak. Besides, I’ve gotten lots of requests for a new tour, and I don’t like to disappoint the fans. Hang on.” He went back inside and came back a minute later with a dog-eared, colorfully tagged hefty tome. He dropped it on the table, where it landed with a resounding ‘thud’.

“What’s that?” Madeline asked, honestly curious.

“That is a birthday gift from some of my fans,” he answered. “They’re letters and notes wishing me a happy birthday. I turn fifty next month, you know.”

“Yes, I did know that,” Madeline said, a little too quickly. She hastened to add, “Jon mentioned it.”

“Anyway, the ones with the tags sticking out the side are all fans asking for a new tour.” He chuckled self-consciously. “I think nearly three quarters of the people who sent something asked for a new tour.”

“And what of the other tags?”

Richie laughed. “The ones sticking out the bottom are asking for, shall we say, more personal things than a tour. The ones on the tagged at the top are my favorites and make me laugh.”

“Read me a couple,” Madeline asked.

Richie complied, picking from his favorites. He read with great inflection and wild gestures, and had Madeline laughing. He couldn’t believe how well this was going. Not that he was a loser when it came to interviews, but it really was more Jon’s bag. He got tired of answering the same questions over and over again. It was refreshing to have a conversation with a reporter rather than suffer through annoying and stupid questions. Besides, she was nice to talk to, and very easy on the eyes. Her dark hair was swept up in a messy topknot, and her sun-kissed skin looked soft and all but begged for him to touch.

“Alright, your fans sure are entertaining, and some of them are pretty creative.” She smiled. “So, here’s a lateral-thinking, creative question for you. If you were an animal, what would you be?”

Richie blinked. Was she for real? That was the kind of question that inevitably turned up on the fan lists when he got interviewed by different websites or radio stations. He couldn’t believe that question came from this pillar of the entertainment journalism community. He saw her slight smile and noticed the pulse at her throat beat a little harder. He decided to turn up the heat a little, see what happened.

“Seriously?” he asked, just to be sure. When Madeline just nodded, Richie pretended to think for a moment. “Well, first of all, I’m not sure why any ‘creative’ person would want to be an animal in the first place. I mean, for sure they'd be bored out of their skulls. All animals do all day is wander around, find food, eat, sleep, and have sex.” Richie stopped for a moment.

Madeline laughed. “And that sounds bad to you because...”

Richie chuckled. She couldn’t have made this easier if he had scripted her response. “The sex is usually restricted to the mating season. I’m not exactly one for waiting, if you know what I mean.”

HA! he thought to himself. He got her to react again.

Madeline laughed nervously and started to blush. “Uh, what’s the second of all?” She had to get herself under control.

“Secondly, animals don’t have thumbs, and I couldn’t play guitar. No way do I want to be an animal. Sorry.”

Madeline nodded. “OK then, good avoidance there, Richie.”

Richie laughed. “Sorry, but you have to admit, that’s a bonkers question.”

She raised one corner of her mouth in a smirk. “You think my questions are idiotic? Does that mean the interview’s over?” She delicately wiped the corners of her mouth and set her napkin on the side of her plate. She finished her wine and stood.

“No!” Richie said, a little too quickly. “I mean, there’s no need to rush out, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Madeline laughed a full-throated laugh that had Richie’s pants tightening. “I was just giving you a hard time,” she said.

“I’ll say you were,” Richie muttered under his breath.

“What’s that?” Madeline countered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Richie answered.

“I really didn’t have any more questions; I have more than enough to work with here and you’ve been more than generous with your time.”

Richie stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t sure he wanted the afternoon to be over. But he knew that Madeline had a reputation for never mixing business with pleasure. Still, he’d kick himself if he didn’t ask. “So, are you going to be in town for long?”

Madeline shook her head. “Just through the weekend. I’ve got some writing to do today and tomorrow; I have to go to press with this,” she held up her notebook and digital voice recorder, “on Monday. Why?” Her heart was thumping so loudly, she was sure he could hear it.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me again before you go,” he said. “You could come into the studio; I can let you hear some of the unfinished tracks, maybe play something for you.” He smiled a deep, endearing smile, one that lit up his entire face, making his eyes twinkle.

She looked at him, her mouth twisting into a sexy smile. She really should have stopped at one glass of wine, but her business was officially concluded, so what the hell? “Is that something like showing me your etchings, Mr. Sambora?” Her eyes met his, then flicked down to his lips and back.

Richie smiled at Madeline, leaning in toward her. “Perhaps it is. Are you interested in my etchings, Ms. Taylor?”

Madeline leaned in as well. “Perhaps I am,” she breathed.

Richie searched her eyes for a moment. “Saturday?”

All Madeline could do was nod.

~*~ THE END ~*~

Vacation Of A Lifetime

2009-03-22T22:11:00.001-04:00

This is a collaboration between Hath and Queenie. It was written as a birthday gift for our friend Lucia :)

Setting her suitcase down Lucia crossed the room and opened the window. She was on vacation. A hard-earned, well deserved vacation at that. After moving from Chicago to Arkansas and working virtually non-stop, she decided that she needed to get away. Now, here she was at an all inclusive resort in St. Barts. Breathing in the ocean air she crossed back to her suitcase and dug for something more appropriate for the weather than her traveling clothes.

Clad in shorts and a strappy tank top Lucia poured herself a glass of the complimentary wine and stepped out onto the balcony. The view was beyond description. The sky was so blue it hurt her eyes to look at it and she couldn’t tell where it stopped and the ocean started. The beach was pristine white sand that stretched on as far as she could see and there were just a few people dotted along the length of it. She’d take a long walk and let the sand sift between her toes tomorrow. Right now, she settled herself on the chaise, sipped her wine, closed her eyes and smiled, she had a whole week to do nothing but this if she so chose.

When she opened her eyes again the sun had moved and sitting up, she realized someone was in the room next door. The balcony door was open and she could hear a man’s voice coming from inside, catching only bits and pieces of what she assumed was a telephone conversation, an angry telephone conversation. “I’ll be home in a week.” “Don’t start that now.” “Fine, good bye.”

Lucia stood and started for her door when the man stepped out onto his balcony, guitar in hand. She looked over and for a minute was sure she was hallucinating. It couldn’t be Jon Bon Jovi in the room next door, it just wasn’t possible. Was it?

Scurrying inside she sat down on the bed. Ohmygod, ohmygod, she had her hands clasped in her lap and she was rocking back and forth, okay, just calm down Lucia, she told herself. If she stayed calm she might not make a total ass of herself. Standing, she took a deep breath and walked back out onto the balcony and nearly cried. He was gone. With a sigh she went back inside and headed for the shower. It was nearly dinner time, maybe she’d see him in the bar.

Jon had disappeared back into his room when he realized he wasn’t alone on the balconies. He caught a glimpse of what had to be an American woman in the room next to his. Even though he liked what he saw, he didn’t want to deal with her if she was a fan – and judging by the wide-eyed stare he got before the woman scurried back into her room, she was a fan.

He had come here to escape from real life, not be thrust back into it. When he had booked the resort, he had done so for his entire family. When he got home from the last tour to find his wife’s things packed and stacked in the foyer, he changed his reservation from a villa to a suite. Now, he regretted giving up the villa.

Sighing, he laid his guitar back into its case, and checked his watch. It was only 4:00. The bar should be empty. Maybe he could knock back a few in peace before dinner.

Walking into the bar she found an empty stool and sat down. Looking around she didn't see him, but maybe it was too early yet. She had taken care with her dress and hair, hoping for even just a glimpse of her neighbor. She ordered a mojito and settled in to her stool, turning to face away from the bar. The bar overlooked the beach and had French doors that opened out onto a large patio that was scattered with tables and chairs. Lucia watched people stroll the beach while she sipped her minty concoction. When she had drained her glass, she turned back to the bartender to order a refill. As she turned, she saw a flash of blue t-shirt out of the corner of her eyes. Her step faltered when she registered the mop of tousled blondish hair and the ice blue eyes.

"Fucking A," Jon muttered to himself as he came into the room. He saw the woman at the bar, the same woman from upstairs. And by the "just swallowed a bug" look she had on her face, she recognized him. He had to give her credit though, she was staying in her seat and trying to look anywhere but in his direction. He couldn't just turn around and walk out. Not only would that be rude, but dammit, he wanted a drink. Jon strode to the bar. "Jack and coke, please." He signed his name on the check and took a stool several away from the woman's.

"Fuck me," Lucia whispered to herself. She was hoping for a glimpse, not to have him park his fine, tight ass right there practically right on top of her. She wanted to talk to him, to start a conversation, but she had no idea what to say. She had overheard his conversation on the balcony, so she knew he was in a pissy mood. She figured the last thing he needed was some woman fawning over him. She signaled for the bartender to bring her a refill, and stayed quiet.

Jon looked at the only other patron in the bar. Her tank top was tucked into denim shorts. He followed the line of her legs down to her feet, and chuckled when he saw the Bon Jovi flip-flops on her feet. He tracked back up her body to her profile. Long brown hair cascaded over one shoulder, hiding her face from view.

When the bartender delivered Lucy's drink, she asked for the bar menu. Jon smiled and asked for a menu too. Casting him a sidelong glance she gauged his mood before finally garnering the courage to ask him a question. She also took a fortifying gulp of her drink. "So, are you enjoying your vacation so far?" At his crooked eyebrow she realized what she had asked and wished for the floor to open up and swallow her. "Forget I asked that. I think I need another drink. This one's empty." She drained her glass and set it gently on the bar. Turning her flaming face away she reached for her bag and started to slip from the stool. She'd just go back to her room and hide for the rest of the week.

Even though he hadn't wanted company, he set his now empty glass on the bar and got up, stopping her with a hand on her arm. "Would you like to have a bite to eat with me?" Lucia stopped, not sure if she should accept or not. She could see that his smile was tired and didn't quite meet his eyes. She also saw a little bit of loneliness in his face.

"I'd love to," she said, smiling shyly at him. She offered her hand. "I'm Lucia," she said.

"Jon," he answered, shaking her hand.

Lucia laughed. "Yeah, I know," she said.

Jon smiled, "I figured as much."

Together they walked back and sat down; they perused the menu, deciding on the fresh seafood sampler plate. While they were waiting for it to arrive, Jon asked her general questions about where she was from and what she did, and Lucia found herself telling him about her move from Chicago to Arkansas, moving in with a friend that she had met through the band (she blushed at that a little, feeling strange bringing up the band with him) and looking for a job.

Jon signaled the bartender and ordered them each a refill. "So Lucia, what brings you to St. Barts?" She took the offered drink, pulling the small straw into her mouth and taking a sip. Jon tried to ignore the tug in his gut as he watched her pretty glossy lips pucker around the straw. She glanced at him finding his eyes trained on her. "I'm on vacation. I figured I earned it after the year I've had."

He nodded, he could understand the need to get away. "Yeah" he told her with a smile, "I figure I earned mine too." She laughed, she had been to more than a couple of shows on the tour, she couldn't disagree. Before she could say anything the bartender set their food in front of them.

"Let me know if you need anything else" he told them before stepping away.

Jon waited a beat before picking up a shrimp. "Care for a bite?" he asked, offering the succulent coconut covered delicacy to her.

The alcohol bolstering her courage, Lucia leaned in. "Sure," she said as she opened her mouth and waited. He hesitated for the briefest moment, what the hell he thought and placed the shrimp in her mouth.

They took turns, feeding each other bits of shrimp, oysters and scallops, their fingers the preferred utensil of choice. The plate was nearly empty when Jon took the last ring of calamari and slipped it over the tip of his index finger, offering it to Lucia. "Last one darlin', want it?" She nodded and gripped his wrist, bringing his finger to her mouth, her lips closing around it, dragging it slowly out of her mouth as she slid the fried ring off his finger.

Jon's eyes closed at the contact with her sweet mouth. His dick leapt to attention. Down boy, he thought, but Lucia didn't miss the darkening of his eyes. She hadn't yet released his wrist, and picked up a napkin. "Need to wipe your hand clean," she said, and wrapped her fist around his finger, using the napkin to pull the moisture away from it. She released his hand then, and used the corner of the napkin to daintily dab at the corners of her mouth. Eyes shining wickedly, she asked, "now what?"

Jon shrugged. "I have no plans. Was just gonna bum around the beach, I guess."

"Huh," Lucia answered. "Me too. I hate making extensive plans on vacation." She giggled. "Where's the relaxation in that?"

Jon didn't say anything. Usually things were planned out to the nth degree. Taking things by ear sounded like a great idea. In fact... He looked at Lucia. "Would you care to bum around together?"

"Absolutely," she answered quickly. Too quickly, she thought, and blushed. "Uh, meet you back here?"

Jon shrugged again. "Sure. Say half an hour?"

"Sure."

Lucia waited until she was out of the bar then slid off her flip flops "FUCK!" she cried when she saw which ones they were, and ran for the elevator.

Up in her room, she took a quick shower, making sure everything was smooth and perfect. She added a big, floppy hat, sunscreen and a big towel to her beach bag, and was back downstairs with 5 minutes to spare. Jon was already waiting for her.

She stopped dead when she saw him. He had on dark blue swim trunks, slung low on his hips. The generous V of his hipbones made her mouth water. Scanning down his tanned hairy legs, she groaned at the sight of his ankle tattoo, and admired his strong feet clad in rubber thongs. She tracked her eyes back up his body and her eyes widened at the short-sleeved shirt he had thrown on like a jacket, leaving it completely unbuttoned. His abs and six-pack were chiseled perfection, and they flexed as he breathed. He held a rolled up towel in one strong fist, and a ball cap dangled from his finger.

He could tell that even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, she was checking him out. When she finally managed to drag her gaze to his face, he gave her a wide, bright smile.

Shit, she thought, busted.

Jon looked his fill too, though he hadn’t yet donned his shades. Lucia had changed out of shorts and a tank into her swimsuit, and had covered it with a loosely woven mesh dress. Through the holes, he could see generous breasts caressed by a hot-pink bikini top. The juncture of her thighs was covered in a matching hot-pink triangle. He tried very hard to pull his gaze up to her face, but he was distracted by her shapely legs. They tapered off to delicate feet that were in thongs not unlike his own. "Decide on different sandals, did you?" he quipped, as she approached. He leaned in to buss her cheek, and Lucia felt heat rush to her face. Other places as well, but her face was obvious.

"Yeah, well..." she trailed off, not sure what to say. "Uh, where to?"

"Why don't we head out to someplace more private than the resort's beach." He smirked. "I've been here a time or two, and know some great, quiet places."

Lucia nearly laughed. "I just bet you do" she muttered as they headed back through the bar and out the doors to the beach.

They ambled along the expanse of white sand, the waves crashing against the shore just short of their feet and every time their hands bumped between them, Lucia felt the shock all the way up to her shoulder. She could hardly believe she was walking with the man who had been the star of nearly every fantasy she had ever had. Casting a sidelong glance at Jon she couldn’t help but notice his mood had changed. His face wasn’t as relaxed as it had been, his mouth was set in a grim line.

“Are you okay?” Lucia didn’t think he’d talk to her about whatever was bothering him, but she had to give him the option.

Jon stopped walking and turned to look at her. The anger he had felt earlier had been festering and as hard as he tried to tamp it down, obviously some of it had snuck out. “I’m fine Lucia, just some shit at home I’m trying to deal with.” He reached out and took her hand, “come on, what I want to show you is just up ahead here.” They walked on, hand in hand, the warmth from her chasing the anger from him, replacing it with a need he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When they stopped again Lucia looked around in wonder. The cove was beautiful with its rocks and foliage shielding it from view. Jon led her around and down to a small fall of water and tiny beach.

“Oh! This is beautiful!” she exclaimed. It was on the tip of her tongue to add, “how did you ever find this place,” but she figured she probably knew the answer, and didn’t want to hear him talk about his wife.

“I’ve always thought so,” Jon answered, staring at the waterfall, apparently lost in thought.

Lucia gave him a lingering look, then headed closer to the water. She took the oversized towel from her bag and spread it on the sand. Jon still hadn’t moved. She pulled her cover-up over her head and stowed it in her bag. Jon still hadn’t moved. She waded in to the bath-water-warm sea and groaned.

“Come on in,” she quipped. “The water’s great.” Lucia didn’t wait to see if he was following, but took off swimming with long, sure strokes toward the waterfall.

Jon watched her from the beach. He appreciated how she wasn’t chattering at him; how she seemed content to do her own thing without crowding him. He shook his head. Here he was on a pristine, private beach with a beautiful woman, and he was glad she wasn’t crowding him. What the hell was wrong with him?

He knew the answer to that, but didn’t want to waste any time thinking about what was going on at home. He dropped his towel and shirt, kicked out of his sandals, and ran for the shore.

Lucia was watching Jon from across the water. She couldn’t quite make out his features, but did see the moment when he decided that whatever was bothering him wasn’t going to take the fun out of the day. She nearly drowned herself when she saw Jon shrug out of his shirt, and watching him run, albeit only five or six steps, made her blood sing. He splashed into the water and dove under, heading straight for her.

He came up for air and shot a stream of water out of his mouth, hitting Lucia in the face. She sputtered and splashed at him, and the two of them burst out laughing. She dunked him and took off across the water, but he caught her ankle before she got too far.

Pulling her in close to him, he chastised, “That wasn’t very nice, Lucia.” The sound of her name on his lips was pure heaven. She just stuck her tongue out at him. He darted in and sucked her tongue into his mouth, and darted away before she could register what just happened.

“Sorry,” Jon said, “I just couldn’t resist.”

Lucia was blushing furiously. “You didn’t hear me complain, did you?”

Jon chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. You didn’t try to drown me again, either.”

Lucia laughed. “If I wanted you drowned, you’d be drowned. I was just playing.”

“What other things do you like to play?” Jon asked, his voice getting husky.

“Oh, all kinds of things.” She winked at him and started swimming back to shore. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. She managed to get back to her towel without tripping, which she thought was a friggin’ miracle. She put her sunglasses back on, combed out her hair, and quickly braided it, rolling the braid up to tuck under her hat. She looked back at Jon, who was still treading water, and looking a bit shocked that she swam away from him.

“When you get a minute,” she called, holding up a small, brown bottle, “I need some help with my sunscreen – that is, if you don’t mind.” She lay down on her stomach, set the bottle of Coppertone in the sand next to her, untied the strings on her bikini top, and waited. Her heart was pounding. She knew full well the sun was too low to do any damage; she wanted to see if the hint of promise she heard in his voice was just that, or if it was just a tease.

Jon waded to shore, stopping to sluice the water from his hair and his chest before dropping down next to Lucia. He picked up the small bottle and set it in her bag, "it's late enough in the day darlin', I don't think you need that." He trailed his fingertips across the smooth olive skin of her back, leaning to taste the drops of water that had collected at the small of her back. Hearing her slight moan and seeing the goose bumps break out along her skin urged him on. He kissed his way up her back, tasting each ridge up her spine. At her nape, his tongue slid along ever so lightly, earning him another moan.

Lucia lay with her head on her arms, eyes closed trying to remember to breathe. His touch was so light it was driving her crazy. When she felt him remove her hat and kiss the back of her neck, she couldn’t stop the purr. He licked his way over to her ear, and Lucia was just about to flip herself over and tell him she was his for the taking. His warm breath at her ear stopped her. "Roll over darlin', let me see you."

She opened her eyes and nearly got lost in his cerulean ones. "What?" Could he read her mind now?

He kissed her ear again, stroking the delicate shell with his tongue. "Turn over baby, I want to see you."

Holding his gaze and the top of her bikini to her she did as he asked and waited. Jon stroked his fingers down her neck, caressing her collar bone, resting his fingers on hers where they held the scrap of hot pink against her chest. "Lucia?" She blinked and nodded, feeling his fingers slide the scrap of material away. "You're beautiful baby" he told her as he raked his gaze over her nearly naked form. As his eyes scanned her from throat to ankle, images from another time started to blur with the woman in front of him. Closing his eyes he willed them away along with the anger that had started to creep in. He opened his eyes, determined to concentrate on the woman in front of him.

The brief cloudiness in his gorgeous eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Lucia. Neither did the fleeting glimpse of anger. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think we should go back now,” she said softly.

Jon shook his head, partly to clear the remnants of his stray thoughts, and partly because he didn’t want to. “What’s wrong, Lucia?” he asked, trailing a hand down the side of her head.

She jerked away. “You’re clearly not into this,” she said. “And I certainly don’t need you faking your way through this.” She stood gracefully and turned away to tie her top back on. She swallowed back a sob, then turned back to grab the corner of the blanket, and look at Jon. “Would you mind getting up?”

“Lucia,” Jon said, “you have it wrong, baby.” He stood, and Lucia could see the front of his trunks tented by his erection. “I am very into this, into you.”

“Then what was that look all about?” She dropped the edge of the blanket and threw up her hands in exasperation. “You looked me over and your face closed up. You looked pissed and...and sad.”

Jon inched closer to Lucia and took her hand. “It has nothing to do with you. It was just a little ancient history kicking me in the head, that’s all.” He slid his hand up her arm to her shoulder and behind her neck. He toyed with the strings on her bikini top. He tilted his head and pouted a little. “Forgive me?” He blinked rapidly and Lucia had to fight against a smile.

She lost.

The smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes. A sexy chuckle escaped her lips. “Does that look usually get you what you want?” She rolled her eyes at him.

He nodded and laughed, “Yep, pretty much. And right now,” he said, pulling her to him, so she could feel his erection against her stomach, “I want you.”

“So, I see,” Lucia answered. She reached up and untied her bathing suit top, pulling it from between their bodies, and letting it fall to the sand. “Fortunately, I want you, too.”

Jon growled and pulled Lucia roughly to him, flattening her breasts against his chest. The soft hair tickled Lucia’s nipples, making them pucker. Jon felt the hard little points pressing into him, and pressed his own hard point into her, making her gasp. He bent his legs slightly, so he could grind his cock against Lucia’s pink triangle, and her head dropped back in pleasure.

Jon carefully lowered Lucia down onto the blanket, and she instinctively opened her legs to cradle him with her body. He fit himself into her, and let her feel the thick ridge of muscle throbbing against the juncture of her thighs. He braced himself on his hands, and stared into her eyes as he stroked against her. Lucia tried to keep eye contact, but the pure pleasure of the friction between them had her eyes unfocusing and drifting closed.

She tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder of ecstasy, and Jon chuckled. “You like that, do you?” he asked needlessly. “You enjoy the friction?” Lucia just nodded slowly. “Wouldn’t the friction feel better if it were on your skin instead of through this damned bathing suit?”

With shaking hands, Lucia pulled at the strings at her hips, letting them hang loose at her sides. “I’ll bet it would,” she whispered. She wound her arms around Jon’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He obliged happily, stroking her tongue with his. He shifted off her so he could lay the bikini bottom open. He broke the kiss for a moment to look his fill of her.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” he said to her again. He slowly extended a finger and ran it down Lucia’s body, starting at her chin. It trailed lightly over her neck, swirled around her breasts, dipped into her belly button, then disappeared into her body.

Lucia gasped and arched her back. Jon groaned at the feel of her muscles working his finger and the wetness he found. He added a second finger, and the orgasm hit Lucia, making her convulse and spasm around him. He leaned down to suck a pert nipple into his mouth, and Lucia screamed out. He kept up the gentle pressure and the slow stroking until he felt her start to crest a second time, then he stopped.

“Wha – why – you stopped!” Lucia complained.

“I did,” Jon said, smiling. “I want to taste you when you cum,” he said simply.

“Oh God,” Lucia moaned, watching the evil smile creep across Jon’s face.

“No baby,” he said, “it’s just ‘Jon’.”

He scooted down the length of Lucia’s body until his mouth was mere millimeters away from her throbbing, aching pussy. He blew on her overheated flesh, making her arch on the blanket. He stretched out is tongue and grazed the tiny bundle of nerves that was peeking out from her curls. Lucia’s legs widened, encouraging, almost begging him, to take her.

Jon bent Lucia’s knees and draped her calves over his shoulders. He used his thumbs to spread her wide, and drove his tongue deep into her. His teeth grazed her clit, and made her scream.

So he did it again.

He swirled his tongue around inside her, and kept up the gentle nibbling on her clit. Lucia’s hands fisted into Jon’s thick hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. The sensations bombarding her were intense; almost too intense to handle. When she felt the numbness in the bottoms of her feet, she whispered, “Oh God, I’m cumming, Jon. Sweet fuck, I’m –” All coherent thought flew from her as she was awash in sensation. Still, Jon did not let up, bringing her up and over again.

Jon smiled and, with a final gentle kiss on her quivering core, crawled up to lay beside her, his head propped on an elbow. Lucia instinctively turned toward Jon, reaching for his swim trunks. She kissed his chin and along his jawline, taking her time and savoring each kiss. Her fingers quickly loosened the tie at his waist and one small hand snaked under his waistband to grip his cock. She stroked him slowly but firmly, and he dropped his head to the blanket, rolling onto his back.

Lucia slid her hand out and pulled at Jon’s trunks, urging him to lift his hips.

He complied.

“Oh my sweet lord,” Lucia whispered under her breath. Jon had laced his fingers behind his head, and his body was shown off to its best advantage. Reverently, she traced the muscles of his pecs, reveling in the feel of the taut skin pulled across hard muscle. She flicked a fingernail over each flat, brown nipple until they were hard little points on his chest. She traced each ab in his six-pack, and levered up on her knees to lick along the deep V of his hipbones.

She smiled when she saw that the thatch of hair at the end of his pleasure trail was the same color as on his chest. Very sexy, she thought. She hesitantly licked the underside of his cock, from root to tip, and his taste was intoxicating. The sea salt mixed with his musk was amazingly erotic, and the scent of him was something she’d remember forever. She licked him again, this time sucking just the tip of him into her mouth. With lip-covered-teeth, she ran her mouth up and down his length, sucking hard on the tip when she came to it. Gently, Lucia weighed his balls in her hand, letting them roll between her fingers. She could see the muscled in Jon's tanned legs start to clench, and she added her hand to his shaft, pumping and sucking him greedily.

Jon stopped her with a gentle tug on her braid. “Not that I’m not enjoying the hell out of this, but I want to be buried you, Lucia. I want to fuck you stupid right here on the beach. But...” His voice trailed off as he realized he didn’t have any protection with him.

Lucia smiled and dropped a kiss onto his cockhead. “Leave it to me,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small foil packet.

“Confident, were you?” Jon asked, teasing.

“No,” Lucia answered honestly. “Just hopeful.”

She tore the package open and sheathed him, rolling the condom down slowly. She climbed onto his thighs and slid herself along his length, coating him with her juices. When she felt his tip teasing her opening, she slammed down onto him, hard, grinding herself onto him. She set a grueling pace, rising and falling hard and fast, and she felt the tremors starting again. Three more strokes and she was making him moan loudly.

“Fuck, Lucia, this is never gonna last long if you keep doing that.” He flipped them gently, and rose up on his knees, bringing her ankles up to his shoulders. He pulled out nearly all the way, and rammed home, letting her feel his entire length inside her. He pulled out again and again pushed roughly into her, making her head loll to one side. For long minutes, Jon teased her this way, pulling out only to fill her again. He reached down to pinch and pull at her nipples, the added sensation making her squirm.

“Jon, I – ” she broke off as he abruptly dropped her feet to the sand. She planted them and spread her knees wide as Jon’s hands came down on either side of her head. He kissed her deeply as he pummeled her, his hard, fast strokes growing more powerful with each one. He felt her start to tighten around him and broke the kiss.

“Let it go, Lucia,” he crooned in her ear. “I know you want to, let it go.”

With a long, low groan, Lucia did let go of her control, and succumbed to the orgasm. She grabbed his biceps and rose her hips frantically in time with his thrusts, trying to prolong the tingles and drive him over the edge. It worked on both counts. Lucia started to see spots dancing in front of her eyes, and she could no longer scream out. The only noises that came from her mouth were little mewling sounds like those of a newborn kitten. Jon rode out Lucia's final wave, her tight clenching prolonging his own release. He came for what seemed like minutes, the pumping feeling like it would never stop. When Lucia started to giggle, Jon smiled.

"Mission accomplished, then?" Jon asked, kissing Lucia's breast. She squeaked at the contact and tried to shy away.

"Yeah," she chuckled. Her laughter turned to a moan when Jon tried to pull out. "Not yet," she said. "You'll kill me for sure."

"I don't want to crush you," Jon answered, and rolled them so Lucia was sprawled across his chest. "So," he said, as his hand traced a lazy path up and down her spine. "How long are you in St. Barts?"

"Just got here today," Lucia answered, "and I've got my room booked for a week. You?"

"Been here a week already, but planning to stay at least another two." Lucia made a non-committal noise, and Jon continued. "Would you be able to extend your vacation?"

"Perhaps," she answered. "I'm not sure if the resort is booked next week, but I don't have anywhere in particular to go. I have to start my job hunt when I get back; one more week won't hurt anything."

"If it is booked, and you're comfortable with it, you're more than welcome to share my suite," Jon said.

Lucia smiled.

This was surely going to be a vacation to remember.

~*~*~ THE END ~*~*~

Happy 47th, Jon!

2009-03-02T22:17:00.000-05:00

I posted this quickie on my main blog on Jon's birthday

I know you hate surprises.

Really, really hate them.

Even when you half expect them, they tend piss you off.

Because you’re a control freak. Type-A all the way.

But so am I.

Oh we’ve had mighty arguments over the years.... screaming matches that would have made a stadium full of people jealous at the noise level.... or the desperate quiet of the silent treatment that would have made a monk proud....

But we always make up, you and I. And THAT is the reason for the surprise.

I know full well this is going to spin you off into a whole new dimension of pissed off. I you actually made plans for tonight, and I agreed to them, knowing full well I was going to disregard them.

I don’t care. It’s SO going to be worth it.

You see, our make-up activities are amazing. I should really qualify that. What I mean to say is they’re holy-shit-I-won’t-be-able-to-walk-straight-for-a-week amazing. Remember that one fight we had? I can’t even really remember what it was about now, but I do remember Rich being shocked at the things that came out of our mouths at each other. He’d never really seen that before, had he? Oh sure, he’d seen one or the other of us pissed off, but never both together.

We were something to behold that day. We may even have scared Tico, and that man is unflappable.

And that night? I can honestly say, I’ve never been fucked so well. Not before and not since.

Well maybe not until tonight; I’ll let you know tomorrow.

See, you had wanted a nice quiet evening at home for your birthday. Just me, you, a bottle of wine, take-away Chinese, and some smooth jazz on the Bose. You’ve been looking forward to it since last week.

Really looking forward to it.

But, I had something else in mind.

Do you realize how many birthdays you’ve had on the road? How precious few we’ve had to celebrate together? I know, that’s one of your arguments for having a quiet dinner, just the two of is what you had in mind, but I haven’t gotten to plan a party for you.

And I want to.

And I’m a control freak.

So, you came home, wide smile and tired eyes, a bag full of Mr. Wu’s under your arm, and your cock already at half mast, but before you could finish your “Honey, I’m home,” we descended. Dozens of your closest friends and family. With a heartfelt “SURPRISE!” we erupted from everywhere.

You nearly dropped the bag in your shock, you certainly shriveled, and just for a moment, your eyes narrowed at me. Then your smile widened, your eyes brightened, and Richie came up to stand between us. He saw the signs that you were ready to light into me.

Oh, you’ll get your chance later; I’m banking on that fact.

I sidle up to you and whisper “Happy Birthday, baby,” in your ear, and you wrap your arms around my body and pull me to you. To everyone else, it looks like a great hug, and I can practically hear the women sighing. But I know what this is. You’re crushing me to you, hard. The air is whooshed out of my lungs, and for a moment, just a split second, I’m afraid. But that fear turns to arousal, and you can feel the shiver run through my body.

You know what that means, and I know what that does to you...what it makes you want to do.

Your eyes darken just a little, and you whisper, “No I don’t” to me.

But yeah you do. I can FEEL that you do. You think you’re so pissed off that you won’t want to fuck me later. In fact, you’ll make a show tonight of grabbing your pillow and telling me you’re sleeping in the guest room, but you won’t.

And I tell you so.

You shake your head, but I whisper, “Just wait until you see the other surprise I have for you.”

This one, I think you’ll like.

You see, Mrs. Wu, of the Chinese take-away Wu’s, is a gifted aesthetician. She truly is a wonder. I don’t think I’ve ever been this smooth all over before.

That’s right.

You winged an eyebrow at me and loosen your grasp just enough for the air to come back into my lungs. “You aren’t the only one who visited a Wu today, darling,” I tell you.

Your eyes go wide as you realize what that means.

“Everyone,” I say to the room in general, “go make yourselves another drink; I need to take my husband into the kitchen for a moment – help him put his food away.”

I take your hand and lead you to the kitchen. After stowing the Chinese, which admit it, is better cold, you advance on me. I hold up a hand and tell you to stop.

I can see by the way your hands are clenching at your sides, you’re only grudgingly giving me my way.

God, I love it that everything is a battle between us. It makes things SO very interesting and SO exciting.

Anyway, I take a step back and widen my stance.

You lick your lips and your gaze is on my knees, where I want it to be.

I very slowly raise the hem of my dress to mid-thigh, and stop, blowing you a kiss.

“Jesus, Donna,” you croak.

I turn my back to you, and bunch up the dress around my waist, showing you that I’ve got nothing on under my dress except a my stilettos and a little dampness. Slowly I turn, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head as you take in the smooth lines of my body.

Surprise.

Happy Birthday, David!

2009-02-07T22:18:00.000-05:00

I posted this short on my main blog on David's birthday...

I told you I’d be here; I don’t know why you didn’t believe me. Damn it, baby have I ever lied to you? Even once? It’s your birthday; of COURSE I’m coming to celebrate with you. What kind of woman would I be if I abandoned you tonight?

I know you’re jealous baby; you think I’m wasting my time on Richie....I’ve got news for you, he thinks the same about you. But I know different. I know that you are worth every second.

You know I can’t help but love you both, and you’ve always been accepting of that facet of my life. It’s worked for us. No strings, no messy entanglements...am I sensing that you want to change our dynamic? Worried I won’t have time for you both?

But I do! And it’s YOU I’m here with tonight, though you haven’t seen me yet.

You’re sitting and brooding. I should have known when I showed at the restaurant you picked, and you weren’t at our usual table, that I’d find you here.

In the bar.

At the piano.

Damn, baby you are gorgeous tonight. The snowy white shirt tucked into slim-cut black pants...Oh yes, baby, even from here I can tell they’re cut to mold your body almost as close as your skin. You’ve left a few buttons undone on your shirt so the Joker teases me. You know how that drives me wild.

Remember Boston? You were such a tease that night...flashing Joker for me. Did you know how hot that made me? To see you smile and slide your hand up to your shirt, then the quick flick of the wrist... God, I’m getting horny just remembering it. I can’t get enough of looking at you.

I’m watching you in amazement. You can totally tune out the world when you sit in front of the ivories. How do you do that? You sit there, back straight, eyes closed, head tipped back ever so slightly, and it’s like the entire world has disappeared.

I watch hungrily as your hands skip and play over the keys, knowing that later they’ll skip and play over my body. You are such a skillful lover, David. Your fingers are magic, taking me to new heights every time we touch. Just a brush of your sleeve against my arm makes me tingle. YOU do that to me.

I watch you as you play one of your older songs. Your expression changes from gloomy to amused, a small smile sneaking onto your mouth. You know this is one of my favorites... have you sensed me watching you? Do you know I’m here?

I circle the room slowly, cutting a wide path around you so maybe you won’t feel my presence. I’ve slipped off my shoes so my footsteps don’t sound on the marble floor. As I approach your bench from behind, your head turns slightly to one side.

“Hey there,” you say softly.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, curious to hear your answer.

“Baby, I can smell your scent the moment you walk into a room. You wear your passion like perfume.”

I sit next to you on the bench, facing away from the piano so I can see your face. Your eyes are still closed, but your smile has widened. Slowly, you open your eyes. Deep blue pools I could get lost in. Your eyes are sparking in the dim light of the bar. I know that later, they’ll be nearly navy with passion, and when you’re finally spent, sweating and panting beside me, they’ll soften gradually, back to the gorgeous shade they are now.

It’s fascinating to watch. The color of your eyes changes with your heart rate, did you know that? The more excited you are, and the harder your pulse beats, the darker your eyes get. I have yet to get them to turn black.

Maybe tonight.

You flick your gaze over me. I’m wearing red for you – you’ve told me that’s your favorite color on me. The dress is short...very short, and it dips daringly low in the front. In fact, sigh, I can’t wear a bra with this dress. A fact I’m sure has you distressed. The dress is tight, too, and I can’t have panty lines ruining the look, so guess what? Yes, you’re realizing it now, aren’t you.

You haven’t stopped playing; haven’t missed a single note even though I see your eyes starting to darken. I can see the pulse at your temple start to beat faster. Are your pants getting tighter, baby? Are you wondering if I’ll duck into the coat check room and “sit on your lap”? I slip my shoes back on, and cross one long leg over the other, and my dress rides up high on my thigh. I see you swallow hard, and – hey! Look at that! Your eyes darkened another shade.

Maybe we should skip dinner.

Go straight for dessert.

What do you say, baby?

We can get something to eat later....

Dinner for Three

2009-01-21T11:59:00.002-05:00

Stephanie, my dear Queenie, I hope you have a very VERY happy birthday. And if it works out anything like this, and you don’t call me, you’re dead :)

Love,
Hath

One

One of the things that Stephanie and Jon valued most about their relationship was their ability to be totally open and honest about everything, including sex. As a result, they had an exciting and very satisfying love life. No matter what one or the other wanted to try, the other was more than willing. It was liberating and exhilarating, and more than once, their attempts had them in hysterics as they tried to figure out which arm or leg went where.

Stephanie’s birthday was in a few days. Jon wanted to plan something special for his girl; something that she hadn’t done before. He had considered taking her on a trip or buying her jewelry of some kind, but he’d already done that. This year, he wanted to give her something...more private and personal. Something they could keep to themselves and enjoy secretly. A smirk crossed his face when his best friend walked into the room. He knew just what he wanted to get her; he just had to figure out a way to make it happen.

Richie was surprised to see Jon sitting there with an open bottle of whiskey, staring at the door to the suite. Stephanie was due in any day, and Richie had expected his friend to be cloistered away with his lovely girlfriend, losing himself in her. Apparently, he was anxious for her to get here.

Richie was a little jealous of Jon; he seemed to have found the perfect girl. She was smart, sexy, and adventurous as all get-out. On more than one occasion over the few years they had been dating, Richie had returned to their shared suite earlier than expected only to find one or both of them in some state of undress. Instead of being embarrassed, Stephanie would simply smile and wave before Jon would carry her away to his room.

Stephanie was a beautiful contradiction. One moment she would be so brazen; looking at him like she wanted to eat him alive. The next, he’d catch her looking and give her a wink and a grin, and she’d turn away, blushing like a young girl. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that she turned him on something fierce; something that Jon knew full well. To his credit though, Richie didn’t do anything about it, of course. A guy doesn’t try to seduce his best friend’s girl.

“What’s up, bro? You waiting on Steph?” He laughed. “You’re looking at that door like you’re willing her to come through it.”

“Nah, she’ll be here in a couple days,” Jon answered, taking a swig of whiskey. “I was waiting to talk to you about her birthday.”

Richie’s eyes searched out the date on the ceiling. “Shit, her birthday’s coming up fast, yeah?”

“Yep,” Jon agreed, downing more of the amber liquid. “Friday. She’s flying in before dinner.”

“Flying? Doesn’t she usually drive when she meets you in the city?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re keeping track of my girlfriend’s travel habits,” he chuckled. “But yeah, flying. It takes her four or five hours to drive down, and I want to celebrate her birthday with her while it’s still her actual birthday, and she won’t play hooky.” He smiled. “My girl takes her responsibilities seriously. Even on her birthday. Which brings me back to her gift.”

“Lemme guess,” Richie said, helping himself to the bottle in front of Jon. “You don’t have a present for her yet.” He stated it as fact rather than asking the question. Jon was a good guy, but tended to forget little things like birthdays. Richie poured two fingers of liquor into a heavy crystal tumbler. The first sip burned a little going down, as a good whiskey should, but once the warmth hit his stomach and started to spread out, it felt great.

“No, asshole, I don’t have one for her yet. I do have one in mind, though, and I wanted to get your opinion.” Jon refilled his own glass and took a healthy swig.

Richie raised an eyebrow. Jon didn’t usually drink this much in the afternoon. “So what is it that has you slugging back the Johnnie Black like it’s going outta style?” His eyes went wide. “You giving her a ring?”

“NO!” Jon said a little too quickly. He loved Stephanie, and he knew she loved him, but neither of them really wanted to throw the ‘M’ word around quite yet. They had talked about it some, but both were both thrilled with the way their relationship was moving, and neither wanted to change it yet. “It’s just that my gift idea, well it’s a little out there.” Jon put the glass down and steepled his fingers, tapping his chin with his index fingers. It’s now or never, he thought. “Remember a buncha years ago, that wild night we spent in Minneapolis that time?” Jon’s heart was racing. It was one thing to want to do this for Steph, but quite another to try to set it up.

“Oh, you mean with, uh,” Richie looked out the window and snapped his fingers quickly while he thought. After a few moments, he turned triumphantly to his friend. “Candace!” He smiled widely at Jon, who just nodded, but didn’t say anything. As more of the memory of that night came back to Richie, his smile started to slip. Candace had been a gorgeous young woman that they had met at the after-party who couldn’t seem to decide which of them she liked better. She flirted outrageously with both of them, and when they jokingly suggested they could have themselves a private naked party, just the three of them, she readily agreed. It was a night neither of them would ever forget.

Richie abruptly sat forward when the full meaning of Jon’s question hit him in the back of the head. “You’re not asking... you can’t mean... with Stephanie?”

“Yeah, with Stephanie, you idiot. Who else am I seeing right now?”

Richie was floored. The last time they’d done this, it was a spur-of-the-moment, what-the-hell-we’re-loaded-anyway kind of thing. This was Jon planning it. For his girlfriend! “You’ve thought about this, and you’re sure?” Richie asked, getting excited at the prospect of having Stephanie’s warm, willing body under his; fantasizing about her thick, luxurious curls against his chest.... or his thighs. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

“I’m sure, bro.”

“And Stephanie would be, uh, up for it?”

Jon just gave Richie a look. “Man, I’m not blind. I see how she gazes at you when she thinks neither of us is looking. She’s thought about it. She’ll be all for it.”

Richie chuckled, perversely pleased to hear that. “When?”

“When she gets here on Friday.”

Richie sat back in his chair with a hard sigh. “Ground rules?”

Jon laughed at his Richie’s expression. He could see his friend practically rubbing his hands together with glee. He supposed he couldn’t blame his friend: Stephanie was fabulous. “Don’t touch my shit,” he said, “even by accident. I’ll break your fucking hand. Other than that, whatever she wants.”

Two

Stephanie was excited to be back in New York City. She lived upstate, and didn’t get down as often as she would like. Jon usually came to her, or else they traveled to some exotic destination where they spent long, luxurious days together. She laughed, counting how many countries she’d had sex in; almost too many to name. She was curious as to what her birthday celebration was going to be, and if she should have grabbed her passport. All Jon had said was that he had something very special planned, and she should wear something sexy but casual.

Hah! Like she ever dressed any other way!

So after leaving work early, she showered, changed into her most comfortable painted-on jeans, pulled on a thin cotton tank top the color of a perfectly ripe mango, and zipped into her favorite CFM boots. She tousled her hair, knowing Jon liked the “damn, baby, you look like you just woke up” look, and skimmed on the barest amount of makeup. Satisfied, she left for the airport. The flight took off just after four, and landed an hour or so later. A liveried chauffeur awaited Stephanie outside the terminal, and she smiled, her excitement starting to build. As she settled into the plush interior of the car, the driver handed her a heavy parchment envelope. Grinning like a fool, she slid the cardstock from its sleeve.

It’s Your Birthday!
Time for your wildest fantasies to come true...
I’ll see you soon,
Love,
J

Wondering what in the hell THAT meant, Stephanie turned her gaze out the window, and watched the city lights whiz by. When she arrived at the hotel, the bellman opened her door and took her bag. “Good evening, Ms. Stephanie,” he said, remembering her from the last time she visited Jon here. All the way up the elevator, her palms were sweating. When she knocked on Jon’s door, she had a smile on her face a mile wide.

The door opened to a surprise. Jon and Richie stood there, side by side, looking gorgeous. Jon was wearing simple black trousers and a heavy denim Oxford shirt. The sleeves were rolled up over his corded forearms, and it was held closed by only a couple of buttons on the bottom. His feet were bare, and Stephanie’s knees weakened for a moment. Damn that Sambora; if he wasn’t here, she’d jump Jon right this minute! But she couldn’t really get mad at Rich, for he made a beautiful picture himself in tight jeans and a purple paisley-print silk shirt. He too had only buttoned the bottom two buttons, and like Jon, that left a wide expanse of chest open to her avaricious view.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” Richie said, speaking first. He leaned in to lightly kiss her cheek, then disappeared into the suite.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Jon said, pulling her in for a decidedly less chaste kiss. His mouth slanted over hers as he tipped her back over his arm. He plundered her for long minutes while his free hand played freely over her untethered breasts. When Stephanie was good and aroused, Jon backed off, smiling. “We have dinner waiting for you,” he said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

He walked her into the dining area, and she smiled at the romantic candlelit scene before her. White roses sat in the center of the table in a Baccarat crystal vase. Heavy silver candelabra flanked the flowers, and the light scent of vanilla wafted from the lit tapers.

Three chairs sat side-by-side along one side of the long table. Covered plates sat in front of each place. Dinner for three. “Great,” Stephanie thought to herself. “Richie still isn’t giving us our privacy.”

The three of them talked, laughed, and drank over a wonderful dinner. As the liquor flowed, Stephanie got more relaxed, and less resented Richie’s intrusion on what should have been a sex-filled celebration with Jon. She was having a great time, though she was still confused as to why Richie was there.

“So, what gives?” she asked Richie, sipping from a glass of excellent red wine.

“What do you mean?” Richie asked innocently before sliding another piece of perfectly cooked filet mignon between luscious lips.

Stephanie smiled. “I mean, I appreciate you wanting to wish me a happy birthday, but surely you have better things to do with yourself on a Friday night...”

Jon reached under the table and put his hand high on Stephanie’s thigh, his fingertips brushing lightly against the juncture of her legs.

“I have nothing better to do than to spend an evening with you, gorgeous,” Richie said, winking when Stephanie shivered.

Steph rolled her eyes. “Laying it on thick, aren’t you?”

Richie leaned in to whisper in Stephanie’s ear. “You don’ t like thick?” he breathed, licking the shell of her ear her and making Stephanie choke on her drink. “Then you’ve definitely got a problem, darlin’.”

Richie just laughed at her reaction and squeezed Steph’s leg. She was stunned. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Richie was coming on to her! And Jon was sitting right there and not saying anything! She shook her head. The banter among them was always full of humorous anecdotes and put-downs, but the conversation now turned toward the suggestive, which it hadn’t done before. She slid a look at Jon, and he smiled, telling her that he had heard his wingman’s comments. That opened the door for him to tell the first of several raunchy, dirty stories. The boys tried to one-up each other, and to hear them talking like that so freely, it was arousing.

She wasn’t really surprised with some of the stories they told; rather, she was surprised they shared these stories with her at all. On the one hand, she was thrilled they let their guard down around her, and she hoped this was a turning point in their group dynamic. On the other hand, she was apprehensive. The boys had more than their share of wine with dinner, and she hoped that they didn’t regret sharing this much with her come morning.

Eventually, the three of them made it to the sofa and Stephanie, a little tipsy from all the wine she had imbibed, but by no means drunk, sat sandwiched between the two men. Jon turned to her, running a finger down one bare arm. The spaghetti-strap tank-top she wore left very little to the imagination, and as his finger trailed down her arm, he watched her nipples pebble under the thin fabric of her shirt. Richie saw this too, and swallowed hard.

“So baby,” Jon said, “you ready for your birthday present?”

Stephanie laughed and flicked a glance in Richie’s direction, hoping he’d get the hint and retreat to his room. When he didn’t, she sighed softly and turned slightly to her right and dropped her left hand into Jon’s lap, massaging his growing erection. “I am more than ready, baby, and I see you are too! Hell, you even wrapped it for me!”

Jon grabbed her hand and, catching Richie’s eye over Stephanie’s head, tossed it at his lap, where it landed on his wingman’s own erection. Stephanie’s eyes widened, and she tried to snatch her hand away, but Richie held fast with one hand as the other moved to rest lightly on Steph’s thigh.

Stephanie felt Jon’s hand on her cheek, and she turned face to him again, confusion in her eyes and blood pounding in her ears. She saw a question in Jon’s expression as he leaned in to take her face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs along her jaw-line. He kissed her then, his mouth devouring hers. Her heart beat an erratic staccato as she realized what her present was: she was going to have both of them tonight.

Three

Stephanie slowly stroked Richie’s length, testing his girth, making her mouth run dry, before taking her hand back from his lap. She dug her fingers into Jon’s hair, pulling his mouth harder onto hers, telling him that she was more than wiling to accept his – their – gift. She felt the hand that was on her thigh move up under her shirt to caress one tender breast, while the other massaged the back of her neck, scratching gently and making gooseflesh rise on her shoulders. She gasped as Richie’s fingers found her nipple and tweaked it gently. Her hips bucked toward Jon, even as she felt Richie move in closer behind her. His warmth at her back had her wet and throbbing, but she wasn’t sure what she should do next.

How far were they willing to go?

How far was she?

Richie leaned in to bite gently at Steph’s shoulder, getting her attention. When she turned to him with heavily hooded eyes , he cupped the side of her face and kissed her slowly, tangling his tongue with hers while Jon slanted his hand into her lap to rub hard at her dampening pussy. Richie swallowed Stephanie’s moans and broke the kiss with a smile. He pulled away and stood, winking before disappearing into his bedroom. He returned with a couple of thick blankets which he spread on the wide living area floor. He disappeared again, Stephanie eagerly watching his every move, and this time came back with armloads of pillows, adding them to the pallet he had made on the floor. He returned to the couch and held out his hand to her.

Stephanie let her gaze travel over Richie – really looking at him. His eyes, normally a soft, chocolate brown, were nearly black with desire. His mouth was set in an almost pout. He looked like was having trouble holding on to his control; his breathing was hard and slow. Her gaze traveled lower, over the expanse of chest that was rising and falling with great deliberation as Richie struggled to calm himself. She continued her open perusal, stopping next at the distended front of his dress pants.

Stephanie looked at Jon and he nodded slightly. She extended a shaking hand to take Richie’s, and allowed herself to be pulled up to stand in front of him. With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned the few buttons that held his shirt closed. She played her small hands over his chest, scratching her nails across the flat brown nipples she found there.

Richie closed his eyes against her touch, moaning softly. He grabbed her hips and pulled her in hard against his erection, rubbing against the juncture of her thighs. Emboldened by his obvious arousal, Stephanie pushed her hands up to Richie’s shoulders and slid the silk down his arms, trailing gentle fingertips in the soft fabric’s wake. She placed wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest, and worked his way up until she was nipping at his Adam’s apple.

Jon stood then, and shrugged out of his own shirt. He stepped in close behind Stephanie, and pulled up the hem of her top, lifting it up over her head. With her arms raised, her perfect breasts were thrust upward, and Richie bent to take one stiffened peak into his mouth. Stephanie leaned back against Jon’s warm chest for support, and he kissed and licked and nibbled at her neck until her knees went weak.

Smiling, Jon lowered slowly Stephanie to the floor, settling her on her back. She looked up with desire burning in her eyes at the two the gorgeous, shirtless men grinning on either side of her. Unhurriedly, the two men sunk to their knees next to her.

Richie moved to her feet, slowly unzipping her boots and placing them gently to one side. He took first one foot then the other in his capable hands and rubbed them thoroughly, using his thumbs to press into her arches. He worked his hands up her legs, rubbing and kneading her muscles as he approached the warm, wet heat that he knew was hiding behind those jeans. When he reached her waist, he undid her jeans and pulled them down, smiling when he discovered that there was no other barrier; Stephanie was commando underneath.

Jon took one of her nipples into his mouth, distracting her from the flush of embarrassment that was creeping over her chest at Richie’s exploration. “Relax,” Jon murmured against her flesh. “We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.”

Stephanie could feel Richie’s hands lightly caressing her naked calves and thighs, and her pussy began to throb with anticipation. Groping for Jon, she groaned when she found his straining erection.

“I want,” she hissed, arching her back and licking her lips.

Grinning, Jon stood and quickly divested himself of his pants, kicking them away impatiently. He straddled Stephanie’s shoulders, and lowered to his knees. Steph took his hard cock into her mouth, welcoming the familiar salty, musky flavor on her tongue. As she stroked his dick with her lips and tongue, she could feel Richie’s fingers run the length of her slit, revealing to him how wet she was.

She couldn’t see what Richie was doing, she could only feel. Every nerve ending was on fire. Her body arched and she gasped when she felt one finger, then two stroking in and out of her now sopping pussy. Her mouth tightened around Jon and she sucked harder, fueled by the rivers of desire coursing through her body. Jon’s moans told Stephanie that he was close to release, and she couldn’t wait to taste him.

Richie inched up to lick at Stephanie’s clit while a third finger easily slid into her. His hand was moving forcefully in her now, pumping her furiously. He switched from licking to sucking, and Stephanie’s whole body tensed. She came with a long, low moan that transmitted up the length of Jon’s cock and sent him over the edge. He shot into the back of her throat, and groaned when she sucked every last drop from his body. Jon slid from Stephanie’s mouth and lay with his head pillowed on her stomach. He rolled first one nipple, then the other between his thumb and forefinger while Richie continued his assault. Jon could feel the muscles of her stomach bunch, and he knew that she was going to cum again. He leaned in to take one nipple in his mouth and sucked hard while he pinched the other firmly. That pressure, paired with Richie’s strong suction on her clit had her crying out incoherently.

Jon kissed her breasts gently, trailing lazy kisses over each creamy mound while Richie gentled his mouth. A bit dazed, Stephanie watched through slumberous eyes as Jon moved off of her. She flicked her gaze downward and saw Richie’s dark head positioned between her thighs, eyes closed, and a small smile playing at his lips. He slowly licked at Stephanie, sending tremors through her body. Jon moved to kneel behind her, supporting her back on his chest, allowing her to better see what Richie was doing to her. He rubbed his hands over her sensitive breasts, pulling and plucking at her nipples while Richie sped his motions, and Stephanie was peaking again in minutes, screaming in ecstasy.

When Richie moved away, Jon carefully extricated himself from behind Steph and gently turned her onto her stomach. She knew instinctively that he wanted her on all fours, and she shakily rose to her knees and spread them wide, anxious for what was coming next. Jon and Richie exchanged places, Jon taking up position behind Steph. He leaned over her, resting his chest on her back. He kissed the nape of her neck and reached around to pull at her nipples while his cock gathered strength once again.

Richie stood in front of Steph and unfastened his pants, sliding them down and off his hips. They got stuck for a moment on the tip of his distended cock but quickly succumbed to gravity. Richie stepped out of them and knelt in front of Stephanie. Smiling, she took him into her mouth, urging him forward slowly until she had him half-swallowed down her throat. Richie’s eyes closed, and his head dropped back, and he gripped Stephanie’s shoulders while she ministered to him.

Jon slid his hot length into Stephanie from behind, and she instinctively leaned back to ground onto him, moaning at the sensation. Jon grabbed her hips and started moving excruciatingly slow, pulling almost fully out before sliding all the way back in. Stephanie drew back on Richie to take just his cockhead into her mouth, and wrapped a small hand around the length of him. Her fingers couldn’t touch, and she wondered if she would get the chance to feel this inside of her before the night was through.

Suddenly, Jon’s grip on Stephanie’s hips became firmer, and he began slamming his cock into her. Her entire body jerked with the force of his fucking and she cried out as he penetrated her deep and hard. She could see Richie’s thighs tensing and could feel his cock and balls tightening and knew he was about to cum. Jon’s hips and balls were slapping hard into Stephanie’s ass and she could hear the telltale signs that he was about to reach climax.

As Richie’s thick cum exploded against the back of her throat, Jon released at the same time, pulling her ass flush against his hips and groin, her pussy instinctively tightening around his contracting cock, milking him. As Richie slipped from her mouth, Stephanie collapsed exhausted on the blankets, Jon still inside her, his body resting on hers...their sweat mingling together as their combined juices collecting in a puddle underneath them.

Richie kissed Stephanie lightly on the mouth, got up, and went into his bedroom. Jon kissed the back of her neck and his hand brushed away the hair lying across the side of her face. Their eyes met, and Stephanie was drowning in the cerulean pools.

“How’d you like your birthday present so far?” Jon asked quietly in her ear, his breath making her shiver.

“Damn, Jon, this is... I can’t.... words just...” She was stammering and Jon laughed softly.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. They heard the distant sound of a toilet flushing and a shower starting. Jon slowly crawled off of Stephanie, wincing when she held fast to his now flaccid cock and wouldn’t let go.

“Where are you going?” Stephanie asked.

“I’m going to clean up,” Jon answered. “And I’m not sharing a shower with Rich.” He winked and disappeared into his bedroom. “You decide where you want to get cleaned up,” Jon called out. “But know that I need a little while to get my stamina back up to full strength.”

Four

Stephanie rolled carefully onto her back. Her whole body was tingling like she’d been electrified. In a sense, she had. She couldn’t quite believe she’d had both of them making love to her. Though, she chuckled to herself, she had done a fair amount of the work herself.

Shrugging, Steph slowly got up and looked in the direction of Jon’s room. He had already cum twice, she reasoned it was Richie’s turn, and she figured she wasn’t going to get a whole lot of chances like this. She slowly went through his room to stand at the open bathroom door. The curtain was closed on the shower, but she could hear him singing softy while the water fell. She spied a bottle of mouthwash on the sink, and quickly rinsed the flavors of the two men from her mouth. Smiling, and a little nervous, she stood outside the shower.

“Rich?” she asked, tentatively.

Richie popped his head around the edge of the curtain, and Stephanie burst out laughing. He had suds in his hair, and it was sticking up in all directions, making him look ridiculous. “What’s up, darlin’?”

Stephanie pulled the curtain a little more open and peeked inside. “You tell me,” she said saucily.

“Why don’t you come in and find out for yourself?”

Richie stood back and quickly rinsed his hair while Stephanie climbed into the shower behind him. He turned and pressed her up against the cool tile to kiss her, driving his tongue into her mouth, smiling at the minty taste of her breath. His hands tangled into her curls and he angled her head so he could deepen the kiss. Stephanie clung to his broad shoulders and gave as good as she got. Richie grinned and positioned Stephanie so he could wet her hair.

Richie massaged the thick lather into her hair, pressing his strong fingers into her scalp, and making her groan in appreciation. There was nothing more decadent than having your hair washed – unless it was having it washed by a stunning, naked rock star.

Richie then reached up and unhooked the showerhead, directing the spray of water at Steph’s hairline, rinsing the lather from her. Once the last of the soap was gone, he turned her, bracing her hands on the wall opposite, and switched the spray to a gentle mist, and ran the hot steamy water all over Steph’s body. He started at the nape of her neck, and blanketed her back with soft spray. He switched the showerhead to massage when he reached her lower back, and Stephanie growled happily as the water worked out some of the kinks she sported from having spent the better part of the last hour on the floor.

Turning the spray back to normal, he painted the globes of her ass and her thighs, moving slowly to make sure he got everything wet. Richie dropped the showerhead, and picked up the soap and a washcloth. Lathering the cloth liberally, he knelt at Stephanie’s feet, slowly rubbing up one leg and down the other. He started with her left ankle, and worked up her calf to tickle behind her knee and scrub her thigh. He just grazed the washcloth over her swollen lips, chuckling when she shivered. He continued his washing, going down her right thigh, knee, calf, and ankle. He reached around her legs to wash the fronts, again, stopping just shy of rubbing the washcloth against her clit, but grazing it lightly, and making her squirm.

Dropping the washcloth, Richie picked up the sprayer again, and rinsed the soap from Stephanie’s body. “There,” he said softly. “All clean.”

“Not all,” Stephanie answered. “You missed a spot, I think.”

“Oh, no!” Richie lamented. “That won’t do.” He was still kneeling behind her, and teasing her with the spray of water. “What’d I miss?”

“You know damned well what you missed,” Stephanie rasped.

“You’re right,” Richie said. “I do know. Stand up straight, darlin’ and turn around.”

Stephanie pushed away from the wall and turned to face Richie. He held the washcloth and soap in his hands, and was lathering again. He started with her neck, rubbing soft, lazy circles on her skin. He moved slowly down over her collarbone and circled each breast, avoiding the tender peaks. He moved to just below her nipples and washed her abdomen in circles, working his way down her body. The lower he traveled, the slower he moved and the tighter the circles became. Stephanie was panting now, and gripping Richie’s shoulders to keep from collapsing on the floor.

Smiling evilly, Richie knelt in front of Stephanie, and her stance widened. Richie carefully washed the little patch of pubic hair, letting the washcloth graze her throbbing clit. Stephanie moaned as the cloth abraded her over-sensitized nub. Taking pity on Stephanie, Richie began to slowly, deliberately, wash Stephanie’s pussy, sliding the cloth between her lips and up over her clit. Steph rocked her hips in time with Richie’s motions, increasing the pressure she felt. Her whole body was on fire, and she thought for sure she would burst. Richie sensed this and stopped.

“Wha?” Stephanie gurgled, before Richie shushed her.

“I’m done washing, darlin’,” he said, picking up the showerhead. “Time to rinse. Turn around like a good girl.”

Stephanie complied and braced herself once again against the shower wall. Richie used the light spray to rinse most of the suds from Stephanie’s chest and legs. But when he came to her core, he tsked. “Darlin’, the light spray won’t get all this soap out,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to set the spray a little bit harder.”

“Okay,” Stephanie whispered, barely holding on to her control.

She felt the hard pulse of the massager on her spine, and groaned as Richie swept the spray up and down her back. He moved the water down to her ass and lower still, to the bit that was still sudsy.

“Open wider, darlin’,” Richie said, and watched as Stephanie opened her legs wide for him, and arched slightly so her pussy was in full view. “That’s it,” he said. “Oh, there’s so much soap.” He slowly moved the water down until it was pulsing only on her core. “I hope I can get it all off.”

Richie positioned the sprayer so the water hit her full in the pussy, and no place else. Steph let out a gasp as the pulsing streams of water set a rhythm she couldn’t resist. She pushed her hips backwards a little, and felt Richie’s finger start to circle her clit. He switched the shower to slow massage, the hard, slow spurts of water hitting Stephanie’s swollen lips. Richie spread her wide, letting the water hit her inner walls, massaging her. Stephanie’s head started to thrash, and she pushed back against the water, feeling it filling her before Richie quickly took it away and hung it back on the holder, directing the pulse to Steph’s lower back.

She felt a gentle press on her clit, and could tell from where Richie’s hands were that it had to be his cock. Holding her breath, she waited a moment to see what he would do. She heard the shower curtain open a little, followed by the tell-tale sound of a condom wrapper opening. He sheathed himself, and pushed into her slowly.

“God, Stephanie, you’re so fucking tight,” he said, pushing slowly against the resistance so as not to hurt her.

Stephanie shoved backwards, impaling herself on Richie. “Sweet hell,” she moaned as he filled and stretched her. He started moving slowly, but Stephanie was having none of that. She pushed back hard against him, slapping her thighs against his. Richie took the hint and started thrusting harder and faster, driving himself deep inside her. It was better than he’d ever imagined. She squeezed him hard with every thrust, and he finally abandoned her hips to grab her shoulders. A few more quick strokes and she was spasming around him, arms shaking as she struggled to hold up the wall. A few strokes after that, and Richie was exploding inside her, and he groaned her name.

Richie reached up and set the water back to a gentle spray and gently disengaged from Steph. He pulled her back against his chest, and started to rinse her with the water, when he heard Jon say, “I’ll do that.” Richie gently leaned Steph against the wall, kissed her once more for good measure, and left the shower, Jon taking his place. He pulled Stephanie in close to his chest, and gently washed her juices from her. “How was that, baby?” Jon asked. “Sounded like you enjoyed that.”

Stephanie had no words. All she could do was moan in coherently.

Jon chuckled. “I thought so. Feel up to another round?”

“With you? Absolutely. No offense to Rich, but I’ve been dying to fuck you properly since I got on the plane.”

Jon chuckled. “Baby, it’s your birthday...I’ll be doing the fucking, thank you very much.”

Five

Jon made quick work of rinsing Stephanie, and turned off the water. He stepped out on the mat, and grabbed two towels from the rack over the commode. He slung one low on his waist, the deep vee of his hipbones and the trail of fine brown hair leading under it made an amazingly erotic picture. Stephanie couldn’t wait to follow that hairway to heaven. He raised Stephanie’s arms up, and wrapped the second towel under her armpits, tucking the end in between her breasts. He took her hand and helped her step out of the tub.

He pulled Stephanie in for a deep kiss, tunneling his fingers into her thick curls. He stroked her tongue slowly, teasingly, while he ground his pelvis against hers. The friction of the towel on her already sensitized flesh was agonizingly tantalizing...but she wanted to feel his skin rubbing against her clit. She reached for his towel and he stopped her. “Uh uh, Steph baby,” Jon crooned in her ear.

“But it’s my birthday,” she whined. “And I wanna open my present.” She palmed him roughly through the towel and groaned at his hardness. Jon growled and tore her hand away from him. He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder and strode from the bathroom.

“What’d she do, bro?” Richie laughed from the bed where he was lounging, clad only in jogging shorts.

“She’s being a bad girl,” Jon answered, not breaking stride.

“Need help disciplining her?” Richie called to Jon’s retreating back.

“NO!” Jon and Steph shouted in unison. Richie’s cackle was cut off when Jon slammed the door to his room behind him.

Jon tossed Stephanie onto the bed, and she squeaked as she bounced hard. Jon wasted no time in climbing up after her and pinning her to the bed with his body. He grabbed her wrists and held them over her head with one hand while the other tore the towel open. He let his gaze rake over her before meeting her eyes. Stephanie swallowed hard. Jon’s eyes were all pupil. It was a possessive and positively animal look that had her writhing beneath him.

He roughly grabbed one breast, kneading it, rolling and pinching the nipple while he suckled at the other. Steph mewled and struggled against Jon’s grasp, but only half-heartedly. Her eyes were closed, and her head thrashed from side to side as Jon continued his assault. He bit down gently on Stephanie’s nipple, and she cried out, the throbbing between her thighs becoming unbearable. “Please,” she begged.

“Please what,” Jon said, tearing his mouth away to grunt out the sentence before going back to his slow torture.

“Please fuck me,” she whispered.

Jon smiled around her breast. “You haven’t had enough?”

“No,” Stephanie rasped. “I haven’t had you. Not just you. I need you, please...” Her words trailed off as she felt the throbbing of her clit turn to a tingle that pulsed down her legs. “Oh God...” she groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked, knowing full well what was happening to Stephanie.

“You’re making me.... I’m... holy fuck...” She screamed loudly as the orgasm crashed into her. She struggled in earnest now, trying to free her hands so she could pull Jon’s head away from her breast. She couldn’t take the torture anymore. “No,” she moaned, trying to squirm away from him.

“Yes,” Jon insisted, only now switching to the other breast.

She screamed again as Jon latched on, and he just chuckled around her flesh as she thrashed beneath him. He slowly slid his free hand down her side and over her hip. Stephanie tried to squeeze her legs together, but Jon was lying between them. He slowly, oh so slowly grazed the edge of his fingertip across Stephanie’s quivering lips. She bowed from the bed with such force that Jon’s grip on her wrists was dislodged. She grabbed onto his head and pulled him roughly from her breast and to her mouth.

As Jon’s tongue dove into Stephanie’s mouth, two fingers penetrated her core. He pushed hard, past the clenching, resisting muscles until he felt them relax just a fraction. Then he started to move them. He slowly drew them out and slid them back, making sure his thumb pressed into her clit with every inward stroke. Stephanie’s whole body tensed while he pumped.

“There’s my girl,” Jon murmured as Stephanie squeezed his fingers tighter. “Let it go, baby...”

“Make me,” Stephanie rasped.

Chuckling, Jon slid down Steph’s body, tracing a long, wet line with his tongue. When he was settled between her thighs, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his tongue. When she felt his breath on her clit, moments before his warm tongue penetrated her, she whimpered. When he pressed his tongue all the way in and scraped his teeth against her clit, she screamed long and loud.

She tried to pull his head away, to draw him up her body so he’d finally fuck her, but he was having none of it. He grabbed her hands before they could fist in his hair, and held them tight while he continued scraping and licking at Stephanie’s core. Her entire body was humming with pleasure, and every nerve ending was tingling. Even her hair was electrified.

“Jon!” she gasped. “Please, I’m begging...”

“Just give me one more first, baby,” Jon said, blowing a stream of cool air onto Stephanie’s overheated center. He accented his demand with a slow lick up her slit.

“Oh, God,” Stephanie whimpered, her arms going limp at her side.

“There’s my girl,” Jon said again, spreading her lips so he could suck her clit into his mouth. He sucked hard and fast, and Stephanie’s back bowed so hard Jon thought she’d crack. Her legs stiffened and lifted a full three inches off the bed and her head bent back until it all but disappeared behind her. Suddenly, Stephanie relaxed, then pressed hard into the mattress, her entire body tense and pulsing. Eyes wide and mouth agape, she felt the orgasm approaching again. She actually wasn’t sure if this was a new one or the back end of the last one, but Jon wouldn’t fuck her until she came, so dammit, she was going to cum.

She tightened the muscles in her legs, and they spasmed as Stephanie tried to hasten the tingling up them and to her core. Jon felt what she was doing, and chuckled. He let go with an exaggerated suck. “That won’t work, baby. If you try to force it, I’ll just make you do it again.” He dove back in, sucking her clit noisily, and slid a finger into her, turning his hand so he could tickle the front wall of her passage. He moved his finger slightly and found THE spot, and Stephanie roared her approval as the pins and needles raced up her legs and began to gather in her womb. A split second before her orgasm hit, Jon stopped, pulled his towel off and positioned his cock at Steph’s opening.

“Look at me, baby,” Jon commanded.

With unfocused eyes, Stephanie met his gaze, and a silent scream escaped her lips as he pushed into her slowly. Inch by glorious inch he penetrated her, stopping every couple of seconds or so to lean down and kiss her lips or her nipple, or to bite at her neck. When he was fully seated in her, he jerked his hips; a quick out-and-in, and that slide of friction exploded the heat from her womb, sending licks of fire through her whole body.

Jon grunted at the force Stephanie’s muscles put on his cock, but pushed through it, sliding easier as her juices, damn, how did she have any left, coursed through her. She started to unclench a little, and Jon took the opportunity to change the angle, levering up on his knees. He took her ankles and raised them so they rested on his shoulders. He lifted her hips and held them firmly, pounding into her until he felt the tightening in his balls.

“Stephanie, baby,” He gritted out between clenched teeth. “Fuck, I love you, woman.”

“I love you too, Jonnnnnnn,” her voice trailed away as the darkness crept in. Her eyes rolled back far enough that she saw stars, and the last thing she remembered was the beautiful sound of Jon groaning as his own orgasm overtook him, and the feel of his seed exploding deep within her.

The Morning After

Stephanie woke when the sun streamed in through the window, slanting over the bed. Stephanie groaned and reached behind her, only to find a cold, empty spot in that big, brass bed. “Where are you, baby?” she called out softly. Hearing nothing, she groaned. Last night was just amazing: the single most stimulating, erotic, adventurous night of her entire life. She still couldn’t believe that Jon had done that for her. She blushed remembering all the things she did with them both; alone and separately. She couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t all just a wonderful dream.

Then she tried to move.

Muscles protesting, she stood and slowly made her way to the bathroom. The room had the slightly damp smell of having been recently used, and she smiled. Jon was already up. After a quick, hot shower, she dried off and pulled a comb through her curls. Fluffing them out, she pulled a thin silk robe off the back of the door and shrugged into it. No need to be shy around Rich now, she thought. There were absolutely no secrets from him now.

She opened the door to the common room, and stopped dead.

Sitting there side by side at the table, facing her, were Jon and Richie. A decadent seven-layer chocolate-frosted birthday cake sat between them, its candles flickering happily.

The men were wearing only towels. Well, towels and smiles. Wide, knowing smiles. Evil, seductive smiles. As if their naked chests weren’t evil and seductive enough.

“What is this?” Stephanie asked, grasping behind her, desperately looking for something to cling to.

“Baby, we didn’t get to sing ‘happy birthday’ to you last night, and you didn’t get your cake,” Jon said with a grin. He held up three forks and wagged his eyebrows.

“And,” Richie said, as the two men rose from the table gingerly, making sure not to knock their erections into the mahogany expanse. “Jon said this was a birthday weekend celebration.”

~*~ FIN ~*~

A Christmas Poem

2008-12-18T20:57:00.000-05:00

'Twas an hour past midnight, and all through the place
Naked creatures were resting, a smile on each face.

Our clothes were all flung in a pile without care,
And I had to remember to find mine in there.

Dear Jon with his e'er present N-Y-G cap
Was beck'ning me over, to sit in his lap.

Then o'er on the couch there arose such a clatter,
I turned with a smile to see what was the matter.

Richie sat with a pout, staring, longing for me
So I walked ‘cross the room toward his perfect beauty.

I knelt by his side, his cock started to grow
Richie whispered to me, his voice sexy and low.

“Now Hath,” Richie said, “Why on earth go to Jon?”
“I have a perfectly good lap for you to sit on.”

“Right here’s where I know that you want most to be.”
He had a good point; pretty smart was Richie.

But Joker complained from his perch on a chair,
“Man, you had her already, and that just isn’t fair!”

"Shit, David,” he chuckled, “I know you can see.”
“That this beautiful Goddess has eyes just for me.”

He grabbed onto my hips, and helped me sit astride;
I sunk onto his cock, and held on for the ride.

Joker muttered, “Fuck no,” and I heard him draw near,
And he came up to me and he growled in my ear

While he fondled my nipples with talented hands
Their pulling and twisting were silent demands.

So I angled my head back to capture his mouth
And my hand, on its own, started wandering south

I started to squeeze him, his eyes got real dark
Then Tico piped up with a smart ass remark.

“Hey Goddess,” he said, with that deep baritone
And he stepped up so close I could smell his cologne.

He said “You have two hands, the left one is free”
“Take your hand, Hath, Querida, and wrap it ‘round me.”

I obliged and my fingers closed ‘round his steel rod.
“You okay?” ‘swhat I whispered, and all Teek did was nod.

Then Rich scooted forward, I knew not what for,
And then I felt the reason, Jon at my back door.

I leaned over Richie, and laid on his chest
While Jon pushed in gently while squeezing my breast

Now David was panting, his breath coming fast
So I sucked him off quickly, relieved him at last.

Then T started groaning, I new he was near,
So I got him off next (‘fore he came in my ear).

Jon and Richie were racing, to see who’d cum first
They had me so full... thought for sure that I’d burst

But I didn’t; I simply continued the ride
‘Til we came with a scream, and I thought I had died.

As we lay there together, a big tangled heap
In the back of my mind, I could hear a faint beep.

Neighbors heard me exclaim, in the morn’s early light,
“Holy FUCK, what a dream!”

Merry Christmas.

Good Night!

Kansas City, Here I Cum

2008-12-05T13:51:00.001-05:00

Samantha, sweetie, this isn’t a story about your birthday, but one for your birthday. We hope you enjoy it!
~ Love Queenie and Hath

Pulling up to the hotel Sam sighed. She loved her job, really she did, but the traveling got tiresome after a while. Getting out of the car she pushed through the revolving door and went to check in, all the while pondering another lonely dinner for one in the restaurant. Maybe she’d just have a bottle of wine sent to her room. She could soak in the tub and sip her Carmenere and not have to worry about some schmuck chatting her up in the bar. With another sigh she turned for the elevator and was nearly knocked to the floor. “Excuse me.” Electric blue eyes met her softer, more muted shade as a pair of strong arms steadied her on her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

"Not a problem," Sam said with a soft Southern drawl, though in the back of her head, she was screaming. Her palms were getting clammy, and she felt a slight tremor in her knees. Staring into eyes that were impossibly blue, she felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush. A moment later, when the smile came, crinkling the corners of his gorgeous eyes, she felt ALL woman and nearly whimpered. In her line of work, she met all sorts of famous and infamous people, and she didn't really understand why she was having this particular reaction to this particular celebrity. They stood there for a moment more before the corner of Sam's mouth twitched up in a smile. "So, are you going to hold me here all night? Or can I go up to my room now?"

"Sorry," Jon said, dropping his hands from the soft silk of this woman's suit jacket. He noticed he left wrinkle marks on her sleeves, and tried to smooth them away.

Sam smiled her thanks and started to move around Jon before her fair complexion gave away just what she was thinking. Jon started to move too, and stepped directly into her path. Both tried to correct their mis-steps and the result was the comical side-step dance people do when they can't seem to get out of each other's way. Finally, Samantha laughed and put up a small hand. A hand, Jon noticed, that was devoid of a wedding ring. "Wait. Stop. You stay still, I'll move." When she passed by him, he caught a whiff of her fragrance. He closed his eyes briefly in appreciation of the essences of honey, chocolate and caramel that filled his nostrils. When the woman was walking past him, he quickly scanned her body, from her long neck, down to her slender waist and toned, shapely legs, to the most gorgeous ankles he’d ever seen and the 5” high-heeled shoes that still had her a good three inches shorter than him. Chuckling to himself at his open perusal of this stranger, he watched the elevator doors close behind the woman before resuming his errands.

When the doors slid shut, Samantha slumped against the wall, trying to sort out just what it was about that man that had her going all goofy. She knew who he was, of course, but had never really gotten into the music. She didn’t turn the radio off when one of their songs played, but she was more a blues and jazz diva than a rock queen. She didn’t think it was WHO he was that made her all squishy inside. She thought it was the fact that he was perhaps the most perfect specimen of man she’d ever seen. And he’d checked her out.

The doors slid open on her floor, and Samantha just shook her head as she walked up the hall to her room. It didn't matter why he affected her, just that he did. She was smug in the knowledge that she affected him as well; she wasn’t blind. His gaze felt good on her – too good. He made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time, since long before her divorce was final. She snickered dirtily to herself. If he'd make her feel other things, she'd be grateful, too.

Closing the door behind her, Sam stepped out of her shoes and leaned back against it. Closing her eyes she could see him clearly, those eyes, that smile… she shook her head, come on Sam, he’s just a man. She snickered, yeah, right, just a dangerously handsome, screamingly sexy man with the bluest eyes and brightest smile I have ever seen. Unbuttoning her suit coat she crossed to the bathroom. A bath was just what she needed to relax and not think about the man in the lobby. Rummaging through her bag she found her toiletries and, turning the taps on she added a dollop of her favorite scent and let the tub fill.

She hung her suit jacket on a hanger and after stepping out of her skirt, clipped it to the same hanger. Her silky peach camisole landed in the suitcase and, propping a leg up on the bed, she unhooked her garters and rolled the soft silk hose down her legs. Her peach lace panties went next, but they were going to have to go anyway. That interlude in the lobby had left her damp and more than a little uncomfortable.

The light scent of honeysuckle wafted from the bathroom and Sam shut the taps off. Before settling in the steaming bit of heaven she called down to room service. A bottle of wine was on its way. Searching the bathroom she found a couple of candles and had just them lit when the knock came. Wrapping herself in the fluffy hotel robe she thanked the waiter, tipped him and sent him on his way.

Dropping the robe, and with glass in hand, she sank into the steaming fragrant water, groaning in appreciation as her muscles loosened and the days’ trials and tribulations were momentarily forgotten. One thing that wasn’t forgotten however, was the man in the lobby. Just the thought of him had her blood humming. Setting the now empty glass on the edge of the tub Sam rested her head back and closed her eyes, again bringing his face to the forefront of her mind. She skimmed her fingertips over her heated flesh, circling her hardening nipples, plucking lightly, groaning softly, as her hand moved lower, beyond the bubbles.

Shifting slightly in the tub, Sam’s fingers slid through the small triangle of hair, teasing, circling her clit as she thought of the man she had run into in the lobby. She moaned lightly when she imagined what his hands would be doing to her if he was right there in the bath with her. Her fingers circled round and round, the pressure increasing as she pictured the honey brown hair over those incredible blue eyes. When she let herself think about Jon’s mouth she slid first one then two fingers inside herself, pumping slowly at first then faster as she thought about the slight bit of pink tongue she had glimpsed when he licked his lips. Concentrating on just what she wanted that tongue to do to her, she pumped furiously with one hand while the other worked her clit. When her climax hit she arched out of the tub, the cool air making her nipples tighten more, adding to the intensity of her release. Water splashed over the side as she worked herself through it, groaning Jon’s name as she finally settled, the tremors making waves in the cooling water.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Jon got through his interviews faster than normal. He didn't enjoy the light flirtation he usually indulged in when he had a pretty reporter asking him questions. He was no-nonsense, all business Jon today. This was the Jon who gave interviews and statements to CNN and ESPN. He was completely distracted by the woman he had seen in the lobby. He berated himself, for not only didn't he get her name, but he was too old to be swayed by a beautiful face. And toned arms. And, God help him, the slender doe's throat of her ankles. Her fucking ANKLES! He shook his head ruefully, and got through the rest of the afternoon and evening.

It was well past dark by the time Jon got back to the hotel. He was starving, and was faced with either a solitary dinner in his suite, or a solitary dinner in the hotel restaurant. A third possibility, chatting up someone, just didn't appeal to him. He'd been 'on' all afternoon; he needed to shut down. He spoke in hushed tones with the maitre d’. "How's the house look tonight, Marc?"

"All quiet, Mr. Bongiovi," the tall, dark-haired man answered. "There are several patrons in the bar, but only one table taken in the restaurant. You should be able to avoid being bothered." Marc picked up the heavy wine list along with the dinner menu, and smiled indulgently at Jon.

Jon smiled back. "Excellent," he said. "Lead the way."

Marc led Jon to a table on the other side of the room from the clearly occupied but otherwise empty table. A laptop, nearly-empty plate, and half-empty bottle of Carmenere littered the table. Jon chuckled and shook his head. A consummate workaholic himself, he understood this person's need to take any opportunity to get things done. In fact, he rued his decision to come straight to the restaurant. He should have detoured past his suite to grab his own computer.

Once he was safely ensconced behind his wine menu, Jon peeped out over the top to await the other person's arrival. He didn’t have to wait long. She came from the direction of the rest rooms. Her back was to him, and as he scanned her form, he took in her short blonde hair and the dangly earrings that kissed her shoulders. He followed the soft angora of her sweater down her slender back to the waist of her peasant-style skirt. Wishing the skirt was shorter, he skimmed quickly down her legs to her ankles, and dropped his arms noisily to the table, causing the silverware to jump and rattle.

It was her. It had to be. He’d been obsessing over those ankles all damned day.

The noise from his table made the woman on the other side of the room jump as well. She had an irritated look on her face as she spun around to see what made all that racket.

Samantha nearly died when she turned around and saw Jon sitting there. He had a sheepish grin on his face as he glanced down to the silverware that was now all askew on his tabletop. She rolled her eyes at him and gave a little wave, then practically fell into her booth as her legs weakened. She tried to engross herself in her computer, but she was all self-conscious now. She had indulged in a little Google search on Jon, linking “Jon” and “bathtub fantasy” and had stumbled on site after site of what could only be called hard-core porn. She had been happily reading, losing herself in the story she had chosen, and most certainly couldn't continue doing that now. She could FEEL his gaze on her as acutely as she felt her own touch scant hours before, and was positive he’d know what she was doing.

Taking a fortifying gulp of the crimson colored wine at her elbow, Samantha closed her eyes let the cherry-like, fruity flavor wash over her tongue, groaning in appreciation of the smoky, spicy and earthy notes that this young wine possessed. Something of a connoisseur, Samantha appreciated a good wine, and this bottle definitely fit the bill. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Jon standing by her table, bottle and glass in hand, with a shit-eating grin on his face. She noticed he was drinking the same wine as she.

“We meet again,” he said to her.

“So it would appear,” Samantha squeaked. She could not believe he was standing there no more than two feet in front of her. She cleared her throat and then remembered her manners. “Would you care to join me?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jon slid into the booth across from Samantha, and Sam discreetly shut her laptop and slid the machine onto the booth next to her. Jon’s long legs brushed Samantha’s as he sat, and just like that, the tension she had thought she relieved in her bathtub was back. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she was determined to put the nervousness and instant attraction she felt aside and just enjoy the evening.

Jon had a million questions he wanted to ask, starting with her name. Or what fragrance she was wearing. Up close like this, the scent was driving him wild. First things first, though, he need to know who she was. His hand snaked across the table toward hers, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing the tips of hers. “So darlin’, do you have a name?”

Sam smiled and took another sip of her wine, not daring to move her other hand. “Well, I most certainly do.”

Jon reached for his own glass, “what do I have to do to get you to tell me what it is?”

Sam watched, dry-mouthed, as his Adam’s apple worked up and down as he swallowed. That, just keep doing that and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. She was saved from having to answer when the waiter appeared with Jon’s dinner. “Ah, decided to join the lady I see.”

Jon nodded, “I did. Thank you.” Marc left them again and Jon looked down at his plate and then over at Sam, “you know I feel rude eating in front of you. Do you want some of this?”

Sam looked down at Jon’s plate, “thank you, but no. I’ve already eaten. You go ahead.” She sipped at her wine again. “Sam.”

Jon looked at her, confusion clearly etched on his face. “What?”

Sam smiled slightly, “you wanted to know my name. It’s Samantha, but my friends call me Sam.”

Jon smiled back at her, “it’s nice to meet you Samantha, I’m Jon.” Reluctantly Jon pulled his hand back across the table and picked up his knife. “Where are you from Samantha?”

She looked at him over the rim of her glass “New Orleans by way of Raleigh.” If he kept saying her name like that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to restrain herself from joining him on his side of the booth. “Where are you from?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it and she cringed at the absurdity of it.

Jon hid a chuckle behind a bite of potato. “New Jersey, but I live in New York now.”

Sam nodded her head. “Are you married?”

A hint of sadness crossed his features as he glanced at his left hand before returning his gaze to Sam’s face, “not anymore. I got divorced last year.” Jon took a bite of his steak, “how about you, are you married?”

Sam shook her head and wiggled the fingers on her left hand. “Nope. I’m divorced too. A few years now.”

Jon nearly smirked, he had figured as much when he ran into her in the lobby and didn’t see a ring. “So Samantha what’s a beautiful woman like you doing in a hotel restaurant eating dinner all alone?”

Sam shifted her legs under the table and found hers sliding against a hard denim-clad calf. Oh my. She drained her wine glass. “Working. I’m here on business. You?” She reached for the bottle to refill her glass only to find the bottle empty. Jon motioned to the bottle he had brought, in silent invitation. Samantha smiled her thanks to him, and leaned forward to grab the bottle by the neck.

Jon squirmed slightly while the wine was being poured, he didn’t want to tell her that he was here to do a show tomorrow night. She hadn’t gotten all shrieky and screamy when they had literally bumped into each other in the lobby so he was sure she wasn’t a fan, but she seemed to know who he was; he noticed her faint blush when she had asked him where he was from. “I have some business here as well.” He hoped she wouldn’t question him further about it.

Sam just smiled cryptically. “I see,” she said.

They chatted a while longer, lingering over that second, then a third bottle of wine, sharing stories about their children and their upbringings, and different places they’d traveled to. They found they had gone to many of the same places and had mostly the same impressions on the places they’d been. Jon was starting to really relax. Once he discovered that Sam didn’t really care who he was his laughter came freely, and his eyes sparkled and danced.

He couldn’t deny the attraction to the woman across the table from him. Every time she shifted in her seat, he felt something stir. Sometimes it was in his pants, but sometimes it was in his gut. His pants made him come over to her table, but his gut was what was keeping him here. His pants had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, but his gut? That had never let him down yet.

For Samantha, she was enjoying good wine and better conversation with a smart, witty, drop-dead gorgeous hunk of a man. She was pretty sure she’d remember every little detail of their encounter, even though she suffered from “wine amnesia” when she imbibed. One thing she new she would absolutely remember, is when she uncrossed or re-crossed her legs under the table, her foot would graze his leg, and his pupils would dilate...just a little.

By the time the third bottle was empty, Jon had reached across the table and was fiddling with Samantha’s fingers again, this time boldly rubbing them while they talked. Samantha completely lost track of the conversation and was watching his long, slightly crooked fingers play and slide over hers.

The waiter came and cleared Jon’s plate, startling them. “Can I get you anything else?”

Jon looked at Sam with heat in his gaze. “I think we’re all set.” Sam just nodded.

Jon waited for Samantha to gather her belongings into an oversized bag and sling it across her body, then led her from the restaurant with a gentle guiding hand at the small of her back. The light contact singed Sam, and her eyes rolled back just a little as her core twitched. Good Lord! The man had her practically orgasming from just that light touch. He led her through the opulent lobby to the site of their first encounter, and pressed the ‘up’ button. When they stepped in, and the door slid closed, neither moved to press the numbered floor buttons.

“Which floor?” Jon asked, his voice husky. With a shaking finger, Sam pushed the ‘5’. “I’m on the fifth,” she said softly. “Where are you?”

“Exactly where I want to be,” Jon said, a moment before pulling Samantha into his arms.

Their eyes stayed locked while Jon’s mouth descended slowly to Sam’s. He was giving her every opportunity to stop him before it went too far to stop. He feared he was already there, but was trying to do the noble thing. He didn’t need to worry; the instant his lips touched Samantha’s, she melted into his chest and small hands snaked around his back to hold him tight. He brought his hands up to frame her face and she sighed. At the slight parting of her lips, Jon’s tongue slowly, softy probed, and his dick jumped when the tip of her tongue touched his. Before either could deepen the kiss, the elevator dinged discreetly, and the doors slid open.

With a shaky smile, Samantha preceded Jon out of the elevator, digging through her bag for her key. She led the way down the hall to her room, and was inexplicably nervous; she had trouble getting the key card into the slot. Jon took it from her hand and tapped it against his palm. “If this makes you uncomfortable...”

Samantha shook her head. “Not uncomfortable, just nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Jon said, stroking the back of his hand down Samantha’s cheek. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to have happen.” He smiled gently at her.

Sam chuckled. “See, there’s why I’m nervous,” she said. “I don’t think there’s anything I don’t want to have happen.” She blushed.

Jon’s eyes darkened and narrowed; his smile turning positively feral. “Well,” he said. “What are we waiting for, then?” He unlocked and opened Sam’s door, pulling her along behind him. When the door slammed shut, he waited exactly eight seconds for her bag to hit the floor before he had her lifted fully off the ground and pressed her against the door. Sam’s hands played along Jon’s flexed muscles, squeezing their hardness. Her legs wrapped around his waist of their own accord, and she whimpered when Jon ground into her, pressing her harder into the door.

Her mouth opened eagerly under his, and his tongue swept inside; exploring and tasting every centimeter of space. When he found her tongue, he wrapped his around hers, stroking it firmly while he rubbed his erection into her dampening core. Samantha’s fingers lightly traced the contours of Jon’s face before sneaking into his hair, and the feel of those soft, luxurious locks would have made her knees weak, had she been standing. She grabbed his hair and repositioned his head just a little, and her confidence and initiative had Jon harder then he was a moment ago.

He tore his mouth away from hers to whisper, “there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Well darlin’,” Sam whispered back as she placed hard sucking kisses along his jaw to his earlobe, “I want you.” She bit down on Jon’s ear hard enough to make him hiss, and when she soothed the bite with her tongue, his fingers gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.

“I’m yours for the taking,” Jon said, wincing as he waited for Samantha to call him on using a line from one of his songs. When she didn’t, he smiled and walked them across the room to the bed. He loosened his hold on Sam, and she slithered down his body until her feet touched the floor. Jon’s fingers slid under the hem of her sweater, caressing the soft skin of her stomach before sliding it up and off. He stopped, nearly gasping, her lace and silk bra was the same soft hue as her sweater and her nipples were hard and begging for his touch. As Jon was studying her Sam grew impatient. Reaching for his shirt she nimbly worked the buttons, spreading the shirt open, pushing the offending garment off his shoulders and down his arms.

Sam took long minutes stroking Jon’s hard chest, and the soft fur that covered it. His eyes closed in pleasure at her exploration, and he had his hands fisted at his sides to keep from attacking her. When she found his hard little nipples she scratched her short nails over them, earning her another hiss. Smiling, she leaned in to nuzzle his chest, and flicked her tongue over one stiff nail head. Unable to control himself anymore, Jon hauled Samantha to him and effortlessly unhooked her bra, tossing it behind him. Before Samantha could recover, he was holding her hands over her head and latching on to the peak of one soft, white mound. Samantha groaned and whimpered, “please”, and Jon let her up for another mind-numbing kiss.

They took turns, each one divesting the other of their remaining clothes until the thin scrap of lace of Sam’s thong was the only barrier left between them. Sam sucked in a breath at the vision Jon was. His body was hard and lean, and virtually twitching with barely contained passion. Reaching out she traced each ridge of ab muscle, her fingers sliding down slowly until they hovered over his rock hard erection. She stroked him lightly, fascinated when his cock jumped at her touch.

Jon closed his eyes as she stroked him, savoring the feel of her small warm hand wrapped around him. He groaned as she tightened her grip, his hips moving of their own volition. When he felt the tell-tale tingle at the base of his spine he pulled her hand from him. “Samantha, stop.” He didn’t want to cum like this. He wanted to bury himself in her, lose himself in her, lose himself with her.

Sam looked up at him, “I thought you were mine for the taking.”

His lip twitched into half a smile, “I am baby, but not like this.” He reached behind him to pull the covers down with a flick of the wrist, and then turned Samantha, pushing her gently, letting her fall across the bed before crawling up over her.

Kissing up her thighs, he noticed she tasted faintly of chocolate. He smiled against her as he nuzzled her mound through the tiny bit of lace. With his teeth he gripped the waist and tugged the thong down, finishing with his fingers, and tossing it over his shoulder. She was ready for him, he could see it, he could smell it and now he wanted to taste it. He nibbled up the inside of her thighs, stroking his tongue up and down the crease of her thigh, teasing her with his touch.

Sam writhed on the bed beneath him. She couldn’t take much more of his teasing. Her hands buried themselves in his hair and when he drilled the tip of his tongue against her clit her hips came off the bed, grinding against his face. He gripped her hips hard and held her down against the bed, tugging on her clit with his teeth. His name was an oath off her tongue as he continued. When his tongue slipped lower, slid into her and he fucked her with his mouth, her scream of release echoed around them. Jon had to tighten his hold on Sam’s hips to keep her from arching off the bed, and the increased pressure made Sam scream louder.

As she shuddered under him Jon slid up her body, nipping and kissing his way up to her breasts. Jon took a straining nipple into his mouth and sucked gently before giving its twin the same treatment. Moving higher he nuzzled her neck, kissed across her jaw, and finally claimed her mouth. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, the tip perilously close to piercing her pussy, as their mouths ate at each other.

Reluctantly Samantha pulled her mouth from his, “do you have something?” she rasped.

He nodded and rolled off of her, searching for his pants. When he turned back, Sam sat up and took the foil packet from him as she stroked her tongue up the hard length of him. She opened the packet and rolled the condom on, slowly stroking him from base to tip. His eyes nearly crossed at her touch and when she pushed him down he went willingly.

She straddled him and took him in one slow thrust. “God Sam,” he rasped. Jon thought he was going cum right then as she enveloped him. When she rolled her hips he struggled to maintain his control. She rode him, grinding against him with every down stroke. When Jon thought he could take no more, she slowed her motions and leaned back, resting her hands on his calves. The shift in angle eased just enough of the pressure to make Jon swear, but gave him the opportunity to play his fingers over Sam’s clit again.

Samantha’s eyes were squeezed shut as the new assault brought her up close to the edge quickly. Her breathing became more labored, and she rocked harder on Jon’s steel shaft. When Jon sensed she was on the brink, he reared up quickly and rolled them, pressing Sam’s knees up near her ears while he pounded into her, his need to cum so great it was the only thought in his head. He had only a second or two before he would surely erupt, and wanted Samantha to go with him. He quickly braced her small feet on his shoulders, and pinched her nipples between his fingers, hard. She cried out, Jon couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain, but her pussy muscles started to clench and ripple, and Jon barely heard her cry of release as he groaned out his.

While he rode out her waves of pleasure, he turned his head to lick at Samantha’s ankle. She gasped and giggled, and dropped her feet to the bed, causing Jon’s balance to falter, and he landed on top of her. The thick, soft hair of his chest teased at Sam’s nipples, and she arched and groaned in appreciation. Jon kissed her deeply, rolling them to the side so he wouldn’t crush her. Long, luxurious minutes later, Jon pulled out of Samantha and took care of the condom. He came back from the bathroom with a cool washcloth, and with light, soothing motions, cleaned up Samantha as well.

When Jon came back to bed, he slid an arm around Samantha’s shoulders and pulled her close. He hooked a foot into the blankets, and drew them up so the two of them were covered. Jon kissed Samantha over and over, slow, unhurried kisses that left her sighing. Smiling, Jon tucked Sam into his shoulder and she closed her eyes sleepily. She tossed a careless leg across his hip; not in invitation, but because she was comfortable. Regardless of the reason, Jon found himself unable to resist the warm, delicate flesh. He stroked her gently; the light contact made Sam’s eyes open and a gasp escape her kiss-swollen lips.

“Jon,” she breathed.

“Relax, baby,” Jon answered, and eased Samantha onto her back. He continued stroking her with his fingers while he kissed his way down her neck and to her over-sensitized breasts. Just the whisper of his breath on her made her moan and twitch. “Now Samantha,” Jon said smirking, “don’t make me hold you down again, you might bruise.”

“Fine by me,” Samantha moaned, head thrashing as Jon’s gentle torture brought her close to the brink.

Jon stopped touching Samantha with his hands and slid down her body, his chest hair tickling her as he went. He settled between her thighs, pushing at them to get her to open more to him. He smiled at the evidence of her arousal, and leaned in to taste it again. He stretched his tongue, just touching her hole with the tip. The light contact made Samantha fist her hands into the sheets at her sides, and a long, low growl escape her throat. Loving her reactions to him, he attacked, latching his lips onto her slick ones and letting his tongue drive into her.

Samantha screamed his name as the buzzing, throbbing sensations assaulted her. She was so tense she thought she would launch off the bed. Then Jon stopped, and the buzz subsided. “Why’d you stop?” she muttered, barely breathing now.

“I wasn’t ready for you to be done,” Jon said. “I want to tease you a little first.”

“Sweet fuck, haven’t you teased me enough?”

Jon laughed. “Nope, I’ve tasted you and I’ve fucked you, but haven’t really teased you yet.”

“Oh God,” Samantha moaned.

“No, baby, my name’s ‘Jon’.”

Samantha chuckled, her laughter ending on a choked sob when Jon slid a finger into her. “Damn, Samantha, you are so fucking tight.” He slowly started to work his finger in and out of her until it slid easily, then gently added a second, then a third. His tender ministrations were driving Samantha crazy.

“Harder,” she pleaded, raising her hips in time with Jon’s motions, trying to speed him up.

“Like this?” he asked, a moment before driving his hand into her hard.

“God, YES!” Samantha yelled. “More......”

Jon complied, pumping her hard and fast. He levered up on his other elbow to watch her face as the orgasm started to take her. The pulse point at her throat started to throb hard, and a pink flush creeped over her skin. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, and under her eyelids, he could see her eyes rolling back. He added a twisting motion to his hand, and Samantha’s eyes flew open, and she jack-knifed on the bed to a nearly sitting position before falling back again. Jon did it again, twisting his hand faster as he pumped her mercilessly. He could feel her tightening even more around his fingers as her muscles tried to expel him, but he was having none of it. He leaned down to take her clit in his mouth, and nibbled on it while his hand worked its magic.

Within moments, Samantha was clutching at Jon’s shoulder, almost begging him to stop. Then he sucked hard and spread his fingers inside her, and she shattered, crying Jon’s name before slumping bonelessly into oblivion. Jon looked up at her face. She wasn’t passed out, but close to. He withdrew from her body, chuckling at the whimper that slid through her lips. He pulled the covers up again and cuddled Samantha into his chest. Soon, they were drifting off to sleep.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, they hit Samantha square in the face. She had turned in the night, and Jon was spooned behind her, his right hand cupping her left breast. She could feel his semi-hard cock pushing into her ass, and shifted slightly on the bed to see if she could turn around without waking him.

She managed, and smiled at the picture he made. His hair was all rumpled, and she traced a gentle fingertip across the stubble on his cheek and jaw. Jon grumbled something unintelligible, and rolled over onto his back, an arm flung across his eyes. Samantha groaned at the view of his chest and the vee of his hipbones where they disappeared under the covers. She traced a gentle finger there, too, and Jon flinched in his sleep.

Chuckling, Samantha gently climbed out of bed and padded to the bathroom. She shut the door behind her quietly, turned on the light and gasped. She had finger-sized bruises on her hips. She touched them gently, then shuddered, remembering how they got there. She turned on the shower, running it hot, and stepped under the spray. Though she hated to, she knew she had to go to the seminar she was scheduled to attend that morning. If she didn’t, her board would find out, and they’d be pissed. They’d be even more pissed if they found out she’d spent the morning fucking a rock star instead. She laughed. Yeah, sure, like she’d ever tell.

She was lost in thought when she heard the bathroom door close. “Samantha, darlin’, why’d you get up?” He drew the curtain aside, and Samantha gasped at his erection. It was bigger than she remembered from last night, but she did have quite a bit of wine.

“I have a conference seminar I have to attend this morning, and you were sleeping so peacefully...” She trailed off as Jon stepped into the shower behind her, and shut the curtain. He reached in front of Samantha to take the shampoo and poured a small dollop into his hand. He worked it into a lather, and put his fingers to Samantha’s wet scalp. He massaged the sweet-scented soap into her hair, and it was all Sam could do to not slump back into Jon’s chest. She sighed.

When Jon was done, he turned Sam to face him, and tipped her head back to rinse the suds from her hair. The column of her throat was enticingly exposed, and Jon couldn’t help himself; he leaned in to lick at it. Samantha’s hands came up to rest on her forearms. Jon finished with Sam’s hair and he watched as his hands trailed down her neck and shoulders, over the gentle swell of her breasts to her waist, and stopped.

“Jesus, Sam, I’m so sorry!” Jon said, seeing the bruises. “You should have told me I hurt you.” He dropped to his knees and pressed kisses to the row of marks on each hip.

“Jon,” Samantha said, “it’s fine really.” She chuckled. “A souvenir of our night together.”

Jon stood and gathered Sam in close. “I never meant...”

Samantha silenced him with a kiss. “Shhhh, it’s alright.” She looked into his eyes, and smiled when he leaned down to kiss her again. Her small hand stroked down Jon’s chest and wrapped around his straining erection, stroking it in time with her tongue’s motion.

Growling, Jon turned Samantha so her back was plastered to his chest. He anchored her to him with one arm, positioning her so the needles of water hit her nipple. When she gasped, Jon lowered his other hand to her pussy, and stroked her clit. Sam’s eyes closed as she let herself succumb to the exquisite sensations assaulting her. Slowly, she began to undulate against Jon, rubbing her lower back against his erection. Jon worked his hand faster, making Sam move faster. Finally, just when Sam was just about to let go, Jon stopped. Sam whimpered her disapproval, and Jon kissed the side of her head and murmured, “sorry, baby.”

He reached out of the shower to the vanity counter top and took the condom he had left there. Sheathing himself, he bent Samantha at the waist, bracing her hands on the shower wall, and slowly pushed into her from behind. They both groaned in pleasure when Jon sped his motions. He caressed the line of Sam’s back, raising gooseflesh even though the bathroom was steamy warm. “God...” Jon moaned, as he felt her walls squeezing him tightly.

“No baby,” Sam said sweetly. “My name is ‘Samantha’.”

Jon laughed and swatted Sam’s ass with a sharp smack. Samantha moaned, and leaned back into him driving him deeper than before.

Jon smirked and pulled out nearly all the way, and drove into her hard, smacking her ass at the same time. Samantha mewled and arched her back, her eyes closed in pleasure. Over and over Jon withdrew almost completely and drove home with a powerful thrust, matching that with a hard slap. Sam’s cries were getting more plaintive, and Jon could feel that she was getting close to release. He reached around, intending to tease her clit, leaning over her to do so. The contact of his chest to her back set her off even before he touched her, and she slammed back hard into Jon, nearly sending him out of the shower.

Snarling, Jon grabbed Samantha’s hips and pounded at her, their bodies making loud slapping noises as Jon rushed toward his release. They came together with harmonious roars, and nearly slumped to the floor of the shower. After a few minutes, Jon gently disengaged and cleaned up the rubber. He turned Samantha back in his arms so they were chest-to-chest, and he took her loofah and bath wash and washed her back and shoulders. Sam was sure she could die a happy woman now.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

After a series of seminars that lasted all day, most of which Sam missed because she was reliving the night and morning’s activities over and over in her mind, she flew back to the hotel. Some of her associates had talked her into going to the Bon Jovi concert that night, and she was so glad that she decided not to give them the brush off. Neither she nor Jon exchanged last names, though she was pretty sure he knew that SHE knew who he was. Still, she couldn’t resist the idea of seeing him again.

When they left her room that morning, neither made the “let’s keep in touch” noises that would have made their encounter end uncomfortably. Both were more than satisfied with what had happened between them. Instead, they kissed tenderly in the elevator, and Jon walked her out to her cab and waved as she was driven away. Jon reached into his pocket and fingered the business card he had taken from Samantha’s open briefcase before joining her in the bathroom. He laughed when he saw that ‘Samantha’ was not her real name.

Jon went through the afternoon and sound check content in the knowledge that he could surprise ‘Samantha’ whenever he wanted to by simply showing up to where she worked or calling her cell. He thought about texting her that afternoon while she was at her seminar, but wanted to keep his knowledge of her true identity secret for a little longer.

When he took center stage for the show, his step faltered when he saw Samantha just off to his left, in front of Hughie’s bass. He smiled at her and winked, and she blew him a kiss.

Throughout the show Jon and Samantha flirted shamelessly. Winks, smiles, he even went so far as to blow a kiss in her general direction. She looked up at him and the tip of her petite pink tongue snaked out and she licked her lips before smiling at him. Jon closed his eyes and with his hands on the mic stand he dropped his face to his shoulder; she did not just do that. He got an idea. He indicated to the security guard to give her and her friends wrist bands for the fan pits. Bed of Roses was coming up in the song list and he wanted her close by.

When the intro to the song started there was an almost audible sigh in the arena. All the girls wanted a chance to dance with their rock god, but tonight Jon had eyes for only one woman. When Richie started the solo Jon sauntered over to where Sam was standing, grasped her hand and tugged her up on stage with him, “how about a dance baby?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself against him.

As they moved in a slow circle, Sam’s fingers toyed with his hair as she kept her hips in line with his and she could feel him growing hard against her. His hand stroked up and down her back and, leaning in close he whispered in her ear “Samantha” his tongue snaked out and traced the shell of her ear, “I’m going to have a real problem if you keep doing that.” Her body trembled at the warmth of his breath and the touch of his tongue. She pulled her head back to see his face and just gave him an evil little smile as she pressed herself even tighter against him. She wanted him as aroused as she was at that moment. All the teasing had left her feeling restless and achy with need. When the solo came to an end Jon cupped her face with his hands and kissed her soundly and was rewarded with one last roll of her hips against him. He groaned as she headed back to the pit.

Looking across the stage Richie was smirking at him and his eyes flitted down Jon’s body and back again. Jon looked down and cringed. Shit. He hurriedly finished the song and turned to face Richie while speaking into the mic, “Richie, my brother, why don’t you sing our friends a song man?” Before Richie could say anything, Jon ran off stage and headed to the dressing area. He needed to change his shirt, his pants, something. He grabbed the dark blue button-down work shirt, it covered more than the one he just pulled off and tried to calm himself down. He meandered back out behind stage just as Richie was finishing, feeling somewhat more in control.

After the show was over he took the fastest shower he could remember taking. He just wanted to get back to the hotel, back to her. It was going to be a little while though before he could see her. There was always someone or something that needed his attention and then there was the party in the bar that he couldn’t skip out on. He’d make a brief stop before heading to the fifth floor.

Samantha and her friends had returned to the hotel and she left them in the bar to head to her room. As much as she wanted to see Jon again, she didn’t want it to be in front of a crowd of people. She couldn’t trust herself not to throw herself at him when he walked into the bar. She took a shower, letting her hands linger over her body, remembering what it was like to have his hands on her, wishing he was there now; wishing even more that she had gotten his suite number. Drying off she slipped her favorite silk nightshirt on and was just crawling into bed when she heard the quiet knock at the door.

Jon was standing on the other side of the door, wondering if she was even still awake. He had rushed through all the after show obligations and now, here he was, mere inches separating him from the woman who could ease the ache he had been feeling all night. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and knocked.

Samantha opened the door and, seeing Jon standing there her face broke out in a smile.

Jon’s gaze roamed her up and down, “we meet again.”

Sam nodded, “so it seems.”

They stood there looking at each other for a long moment before Sam reached out and grabbed a handful of shirt, pulling Jon into the room and quietly closing the door behind him.

The Morning After

2008-09-24T15:19:00.004-04:00

~ By Hath, September 24, 2008

You woke before them and were very quiet, careful not to disturb them. Silent as a mouse, you pad around the room, fastening the limbs hanging off the sides of the bed to the nearest posts. You had the most amazing night with these two men, these close friends, and you want to make their morning amazing for them.

You slowly slide the cotton sheet from them, wadding it up and tossing it in the corner. You smile when you see their morning erections bobbing happily in the cool air. With an evil grin, you tie the dark one's left hand to the light one's, the curly-haired one's, right ankle, and vice versa, so when they try to struggle, they will fight against each other.

The next to last thing you do before you wake them is take a quick shower.

The last thing you do is take two very slender vibrators and a tube of lube from the nightstand.

You use the settee at the end of the bed to climb up to stand on the mattress. In a clear voice, you announce that it is time to wake up, and clap your hands loudly. Male groans puncture the room, and you kneel down to tickle the feet that are bound to each other's hands. Their knees jerk up reflexively, pulling on the arms of the other, and that freaks them out enough to try to sit upright, only to find themselves unable to do so.

"Good morning, my pretties," you say to them, and they are too stunned to do anything but stare at you. You make a big show of squirting lube on your finger before smothering one of the vibrators with it. Brown and blue eyes go wild and wide when you hold it up so they can see it.

"No words," you say to them. "Only moans and screams."

You repeat the same motions with the other toy and slowly push one into each of the men. They squirm at this intrusion, and instinctively fight against it, but you are persistent and gentle, and soon have them seated. You pick up the controls that are attached by thin cords to them, and test them, dialing them to the lowest setting, and pressing the button. Both men stiffen and gasp, but eventually relax, though now they are both starting to sweat. They have yet to look at each other, sightly embarrassed at the way this is turning them on.

You place the controls in the men's hands. "Don't drop them," you admonish, "or I'll get the larger ones." They believe you, and grip onto the controls, careful not to press the pulse button.

You crawl up the length of the light one, the one who isn't yours and sit on his shoulders, your fragrant pussy inches from his mouth. Silently you lever up on your knees, holding onto the headboard. He locks eyes on you and you smile down on him. Tentatively, he stretches his tongue to lap at you, and groans at your sweet flavor. You lower yourself a little on him, and he makes quick work of the juices that have already started to gather. You trail a hand down the side of the other man's face, the one who is watching his friend lick and suck at what is his.

When you feel the tension start to build, you back away, not wanting to cum quite yet. You slide backwards on his inked chest, and lean down to kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on him. You then lean over to the other man and kiss him deeply, transferring your flavor to his greedy tongue.

Smiling, you sheathe the light one, slide onto his length, and start rocking. His guttural moans are music to your ears. You slide your hands up to pinch his nipples, and he arches from the bed. Leaning down to his ear, you whisper, "press the button." He shakes his head from side to side. You clamp down on his ear hard enough to make him wince, then soothe the bite with gentle sucking. "I said, press the goddamn button. It is NOT a request. You will not like the consequences if you disobey."

You push up so you are once again sitting astride, and start to undulate. "Press it," you hiss.

He does, and the man next to him yelps and pulls at his restraints. You just smile. You had switched the controls so each man controls the vibrator in the other. "Do not let the button go," you say. Now for the first time the two men look at each other; apology in the blue eyes of the man you are riding. He has to quickly look away, because he does not want to see his friend's face while he's controlling the vibrator in his ass.

You feel yourself starting to approach orgasm, and brace your hands on your current partner's chest. "Dial it up," you say. "Slowly." Once again, he shakes his head in the negative. You sigh and say, "very well," then climb off him, and remove the condom. Quickly, you move across to lower yourself on the straining cock of the man next to him and sigh contentedly. "Press the button," you tell him, and he hastens to comply. You look with pity at the other man's face. "I told you you would not like the consequences," you say.

As you ride your lover, and you lean down to kiss him, you whisper in his ear, "dial it up." He looks at you with pleading eyes, not wanting to be responsible for his friend's excitement. "I will punish you if you do not," you say. You once again push up to sit astride, and watch as with trembling fingers, your lover complies with your order. You watch with a satisfied smile as the man whose body you just left stiffens and he groans as the vibrator swirls and buzzes in his ass.

You look down into deep brown eyes and smile. "Very good," you say, and reach around to cup his sac. The gentle squeeze you give him makes his eyes roll back, and you can tell he is tensing. You stop your motion and he looks at you with confusion in his face, unsure of what he did wrong. "You may not cum until he does," you say, gesturing to his friend. "You know what to do."

With an apologetic glance at his friend, your chocoloate-eyed lover dials up the speed again, making the other man twitch and jerk. His muscles strain against the restraints, and his hips piston uselessly into the air. "More," you whisper, and with a reluctant sigh, he does, and the rewarding groan from the parted lips of the blonde nearly makes you lose the tenuous hold you have on your orgasm, but you control yourself. You watch, fascinated, as the long, slender fingers of the man next to you open and close helplessly, trying to grab onto something. His head is thrashing back and forth, and you reach over to slide your hand down his hard, silky length. He shouts unintelligibly as he cums, spurting all over his belly and chest. As he lies there twitching and muttering incoherently, you look down at your man's face. "Very good," you say yet again, and hasten your motions. You're bouncing hard on him now, grinding your clit against him with every downward thrust. This time, when he approaches orgasm, you let him cum, filling you with his hot seed.

As you scream your release, you see that the other man's waning erection is starting to grow again. You smile and dismount, and crawl to the other man. You greedily lick the cum from his chest and abdomen and run your tongue over his member. Soon he is standing proud again, and you sheath him and lower yourself onto him, the buzzing in his ass transferring to your body as you ride. You look over at your sloe-eyed lovely and smile. "Your turn," you say, and this time, the blonde dials up the vibrator without being told.

You watch as his cock, impressive even when flaccid, starts to grow, and you know this must be uncomfortable, going again so soon. You turn your full attention to the blonde and reach down to thread your hands through his curls, pulling his head slightly toward you so you can ravage his mouth. Your kiss is hot and hungry, and the motions of your tongue, the thrusts and parries, are matched by the dance your hips are performing.

The grunts and growls of the dark one go straight to your core, and you know that these two will surely get back at you for the exquisite torture you are inflicting on them, and you clench at the thought. The light one is bucking now, struggling against his bonds, and you watch as his eyes roll back and his legs tense and thrash, pulling on the arm of the dark. You stop your motions, and he cries out in frustration. "Same deal, darling," you say. "He has to cum first." You lovingly stroke the now straining member next to you, applying a slight pressure that has him writhing. He bucks against your hand, and you oblige him by squeezing harder. A hiss escapes his lips as he turns purple and leaks just a bit before pumping high and hard into the air. His cum sprays him up to his neck, and tears are leaking from the corner of his eyes as he struggles to remain conscious.

You quickly turn off his vibrator, letting him come down in peace. "Now," you say to the blonde, "you may cum." You rise up and slam down on him, making him shout and his back bows up from the mattress. A hard twist of his nipples sends him over the edge, pulsing endlessly in you, his ripples triggering your own release. You throw your head back and scream as you ride out the storm, and when you collapse on his chest, sweaty and tired, you reach over and turn off his vibrator, too. The three of you are breathing hard, and you dismount with a groan. You owe your sweetheart a tongue-bath like his friend received. You do so, being careful not to touch his cock, which is still twitching and sore. When he's licked clean, you crawl to the bottom of the bed.

"Sorry, my lovelies," you say, "but they have to come out."

You slowly, one centimeter at a time, withdraw the two vibrators, watching as the men are now reluctant to give them up. When they pull free, you spend a few minutes untying them and rubbing their shoulders and ankles. With gentle kisses on their lips, you leave the bed. "When you feel up to it," you say, "I'll have a tub going. Come and get cleaned up."

Gingerly you walk from the room, certain in a minute or two, one or both of them will join you....

~ THE END ~

The Garden Party: Jon and Caroline (conclusion)

2008-08-22T00:46:00.004-04:00

~ By Hath, August 22, 2008

Jon frowned. What in the hell was Caroline going to do? Cover herself with honey and let him dip fruit in it? He smiled at the thought. Food in sex-play wasn’t really something he got into, aside from the stray encounter with body chocolate, but the thought of his beautiful wife laid out with honey drizzled between her breasts and over her abdomen made his pants tighter.

“Cold fruit sounds delicious,” he said to her. “And exactly what a warm summer’s night calls for.”

Caroline just smiled. When they got home, and Jon had parked his baby in the garage, the pair made their way into the house. Caroline led Jon to the library and his favorite leather chair. She bid him to sit and went to the bar to pour him a glass of wine. After handing it to him, she knelt at his feet, stroking his chest and belly. “Darling, I need to take a quick shower to wash the sweat off, then I will prepare your snack. Please, stay here, alright? Promise?”

“Promise, baby, but,” he put the glass down and hauled his wife up onto his lap. He unfastened the first few buttons on the back of her dress and tugged the front down so her breasts finally spilled free. He licked at the sweat that had dried between them before continuing. “I love the way you taste right now: slightly salty with an underlying sweetness. Don’t shower for my benefit.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” Caroline answered, lost in the sensation of her husband licking at her skin. After a few moments, she straightened, and pulled her dress up. “Stay here and stay dressed until I have everything laid out in the dining room.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Dining room?”

A secret smile spread across Caroline’s face. “Where else would you take a meal?” She blew him a kiss and left the room.

Jon sat in his chair and thoughtfully sipped at his wine. The image of his wife laid out on their mahogany table, wearing nothing but honey and a smile made him sigh happily. He absently stroked at his growing erection, picturing her snow white flesh glistening with sticky, sweet honey. His head dropped back against the high back of the chair and he let the thoughts of his wife course through him. Before long, he was breathing heavily and really REALLY wishing his lovely Caroline would call to him already.

Jon heard a noise across the hall, in the dining room, and he was halfway to the door before he remembered his promise and slowly walked back to his chair, pushing a hand through his hair. He checked his pocket watch. It had been 20 minutes since Caro had left the room. He looked longingly at the doorway then sat heavily in his chair. He drained the rest of his glass and waited.

A few minutes later, Caroline’s voice came through the door. “Jon, baby, your snack is ready.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Jon said. Smiling, he poured a fresh glass of wine for himself, and another for Caroline, and crossed the hall to find the dining room doors, gorgeous pocket doors, firmly shut.

“What are you doing in there, darling?” he asked through the door. His voice was rough and full of emotion and arousal. He leaned into the door so he could hear her response clearly.

“I didn’t want the surprise to be ruined,” came the answer, floating through the door like a breeze. “Come on in.”

Jon chuckled and slid the pocket doors open slowly. They glided soundlessly on their runners and disappeared into the walls. The sight before him made Jon drop the wine glasses, sending them crashing and shattering to the parquet floor at his feet.

The room was awash in candle light. Fat vanilla-scented candles, all different heights and shapes, lined the sideboard, casting a delicate glow on the room, and sending a seductive fragrance through the air. Soft, sexy jazz wafted from the Bose in the corner, and over it, he heard her say, “Hey, baby,” and he was lost. Her voice was pure aged whiskey, and it lit a fire in his belly that it was going to take a long time to extinguish.

Twin candelabra he didn’t remember them owning were lit at the far end of the massive table. At the near end, closest to where he was standing, was a feast truly fit for a king. Lying on a white damask table covering, and reclining on pillows from the brocade sofa in the sitting room, was his wife: his gloriously naked wife. Her pale skin glowed in the soft light and her hair sparkled and shone when she turned her head to look at him. One long, delicate leg was laid out on the table, bent at an angle at the knee. The other was also bent at the knee, but her foot was flush on the table, so her knee rose enticingly.

The position should have had her open to his view, except she was obscured by fruit.

Piles of fruit.

Jon couldn’t hide his surprise or his arousal. His color was high, and a bead of perspiration shone on his forehead. The bulge in his pants he was stroking earlier swelled at the sight of the delectable treat laid out before him. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to sweep the fruit from her or take an hour to eat every last bit off of her.

A row of thin mango slices ringed her collarbone. Ovals of kiwi rested on her breasts, hiding her nipples from him. Smiles of cantaloupe outlined her slightly larger than hand-sized mounds. His mouth watered just looking at her. His hungry eyes scanned her torso. A trail of sliced strawberries traveled from the valley between her breasts to a perfect, plump blueberry tucked into her navel. His gaze traveled lower, and lit on bunches of green grapes resting where her legs joined. They spilled over her and onto the cloth, and the tableau in front of him was the most delicious thing he’d ever seen.

Jon swallowed hard. “Wh-where’s the honey?” was the first thing his over-excited brain thought to say.

Caroline smiled. “You have to make me MAKE the honey, honey,” came her seductive reply.

Jon groaned and slowly approached the table. He licked his lips, and Caroline smiled. Jon walked around the table, considering the presentation, and trying to decide where to start. Caroline watched the heat and desire in his eyes, and was glad she decided to go through with this. Jon stopped his circuit at the foot of the table and turned the ladder-back chair so its back was against the table. He stepped on the seat then reclined on the table next to Caroline, and kissed her lips gently.

“Bon appetit,” Caroline said with a saucy French accent.

Jon licked and kissed his way down her neck, smiling at the apricot flavor. “Damn, that’s a nice surprise.”

“Be sure to get it all,” Caroline said softly. “Don’t want to leave me all sticky.”

“Baby, I fully intend to lick every last drop of juice from your body,” he said, keeping his mouth touching her skin.

Jon licked and nibbled his way down to the mango and slurped the first slice into his mouth. The delicate flavor of the succulent fruit was a flawless mixture of sweet and sour, and complimented the apricot juice perfectly. Jon picked up a second slice with his teeth and brought it to his wife’s mouth. She licked at it for a minute, and it was all Jon could do not to drop the fruit and attack her mouth, but he teased her lips with the mango before allowing her to pull it from his mouth. As she chewed and swallowed, her eyes locked on her husbands. When her tongue darted out to lick the juice from her lips, Jon groaned. He made short work of the remaining slices, and moved on to the kiwi.

Using his tongue, Jon pushed the first slice of kiwi across Caroline’s breast and onto the strawberries that lied between. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucking it into her mouth and cleaning the mild and sweet juice from her flesh. When it was licked clean, Jon scooped the kiwi and a slice of strawberry into his mouth, and chewed slowly. With hooded eyes, Caroline watched as Jon repeated the same sweet torture on the other breast, and felt herself getting wet. She sighed and closed her eyes.

Jon nibbled at the melon slices, nipping Caroline’s skin every once in a while, and she started to writhe on the table. Jon smiled and used his hands for the first time, raising her breasts so he could lick the juice from under them. With one more kiss on each nipple, he moved to between her breasts, and devoured the strawberries one slice at a time, sharing some with his wife. When he came to the blueberry, he smiled and sucked it out with a *pop!*

“That was delicious,” Jon said, wiping his mouth with an index finger and dipping it into Caroline’s. “Thank you.”

Caroline pouted. “Don’t you want any grapes?” she asked.

Jon looked at the bunch. “I can’t possibly eat them all,” he said, “and besides, I want a little taste of honey.”

“Baby, you can have both,” Caroline said softly. “Move the stems.”

Jon did as he was bid with shaking hands. Not all the grapes moved, however. One appeared to be stuck to her... He gasped. It wasn’t stuck to her – it was stuck IN her. “Sweet mother of God,” he said, and slid off the end of the table. He sat on the backwards-facing chair, and pulled the table covering toward him, sliding his wifr toward the edge. When Caroline’s ass was at the edge of the table, he draped her legs over his shoulders, and he sucked the grape out of her, making her gasp. He chewed on the fruit, reveling in the heady mix of sweet cold fruit, and sweet warm Caroline.

Jon smiled when he went to lap at Caroline’s flavor and found another grape. “Oh damn, baby, how many…” he trailed off as he used his tongue to tease the next one out of Caroline and into his mouth. Her flavor was stronger on this morsel, and he groaned in pleasure. Greedily, he went back for more, pleased when he found another grape to enjoy. Two more after that, and he sighed. “Damn, is that the last one?”

Caroline gasped from her position on the table. “That was it, but I think there’s still grape juice to clean up. You did promise...”

“That I did,” Jon said with a smile, then dove back between her legs, driving his tongue into her and swirling it around, until all he could taste was his Caroline. When she started to clench around his tongue, and grabbed for his hair, he stopped. “Well, that’s the last of it,” he said, grinning evilly, and sitting back from her.

Caroline groaned and opened her eyes. “Well, if that’s all there is,” she said petulantly, “I’ll have to finish myself.” She reached under the pillow and pulled out her vibrator.

Jon laughed. “Prepared for anything, huh, Caro?”

“I know your sense of humor and timing, baby,” Caroline said, turning on the device.

Jon grabbed it before she could insert it however, and tossed it behind him, where it buzzed on the floor. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, standing and unfastening his trousers. “The only other thing you’re having inside you is me.” He hurriedly toed off his boots and kicked out of his pants.

Caroline sat up, and pushed at Jon’s jacket. He helped it to fall off his shoulders to the floor in a heap. The vest was the next to go, though she put that on the table so as to not damage his watch. She removed the tie pin and looked at Jon with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Naaah,” she said, and stuck it into the vest. She untied the cravat from around his neck and looped the tie around hers the rich royal blue contrasting with her pale skin. Their mouths fused while she worked the buttons of his shirt.

Finally, the plackets fell open, and she was able to run her hands over his chest. The hair there was soft and thick, and she purred at the sensation. “I need that rubbing on me,” she said, pulling Jon to her. He smiled wickedly and pushed Caroline gently back down onto the table. She slid back, and he spread her legs wide, and leaned down to rub his chest against her pussy.

“There?” he asked, as he felt her clit rubbing though the hair to his chest.

“That works,” Caroline answered, biting on her lower lip as the sensations overwhelmed her.

Jon pushed the chair out of his way and crawled up Caroline’s body until his straining erection was buried in her. Caroline screamed his name as the orgasm that had been building since he opened the pocket doors finally broke free. She clenched around Jon, and begged him, “harder!”

Jon complied, scooting them back so he could stand on the floor. He pulled Caroline to the edge of the table again, and braced her ankles on his shoulders. His hips moved of their own accord, pistoning at her while he gripped her thighs hard. Caroline raised slightly to take him deeper, and the change in angle was his undoing. Jon dropped his arms to the table on either side of her hips while he pulsed and twitched deep inside her, letting her milk him until he was totally spent.

He kissed Caroline’s ankles and lowered them to his sides, and pulled her up to cuddle against his chest. He kissed her deeply, angling her head and sending his fingers diving into her hair until he totally possessed her. She whimpered when he broke contact, and leaned her cheek against one strong shoulder.

“God, I love you Jon,” Caroline said, sucking on his neck.

“And I love you, Caroline,” Jon answered, kissing her head.

The Garden Party: Jon and Caroline

2008-08-20T07:58:00.004-04:00

~ by Hath August 20, 2008

Goddess’ Note: I was challenged to give you a glimpse into Caroline and Jon’s life....Here’s a low window you can peep through....

When Savannah told those gathered under her window that Richie would be joining the men in just a few minutes, they dispersed. As Caroline wound her arm through that of her husband, she glanced back over her shoulder. Something about the way they were standing niggled at the back of her head. Then she saw Richie lean heavily over Savannah’s back, looking like a man who had just...

“Oh my God!” Caroline said softly.

Jon turned to her. “What’s wrong, my love?”

Caroline blushed. “Nothing, I –” she trailed off and looked hesitatingly over her shoulder again.

Jon followed her gaze with his own, and smiled. Richie was straightening and trying to be sneaky about adjusting his pants, and it looked like Savannah was holding the back of her skirt closed. The pair was laughing and sharing a tender kiss as they left the balcony. “Son of a bitch,” he swore, then chuckled. “They did, didn’t they?” he asked. “What did you see?”

“He was, well, slumped over Van’s back,” she said, laughing. “I can’t believe he talked her into doing that!’

Jon’s eyes darkened. “How do you know she didn’t talk him into it?”

“She would never...” Caroline trailed off, remembering the evil little glint in her friend’s eyes when Savannah was talking to Cheryl. “Oh,” she said. “Oh! What a dirty girl!” She clapped a hand over her mouth to control the giggling.

Jon laughed. “You know, the Victorian era was full of dirty, naughty games. It doesn’t surprise me that Rich picked that for his theme. I still can’t believe they had the balls to stand there, fucking each other in front of us, though.”

Caroline’s arm tightened on Jon’s. “Just how naughty were the Victorian games?” she asked, already knowing the answer to that question. One of her favorite pastimes was reading historical romance novels, something she had in common with Savannah. Some of them were pure pornography, hiding under the guise of romance. Some of the games and scenes shocked her at first but now she found them intriguing. Apparently, so did Savannah.

A slow, lecherous smile spread over Jon’s face. “Oh, baby, they were extremely naughty. Anything you can think of? It was fair game.”

“Really? Anything?” Caroline smiled wickedly and considered her husband. She did believe he was inviting her to think of a game they could play.

“Anything,” Jon reiterated, leaning in to kiss her tenderly. “Is there mention of any sorts of games you might like to try in those romance novels you read?”

Her mind was spinning with possibilities. When they were dressing for the party, she thought a bit of role play in their costumes would be fun. Some of the things in those novels made her thighs part just thinking about them. And just now, realizing that Richie and Savannah were having sex with an audience made her want to try one or two of those things out for herself.

Caroline laughed. “How did you know that’s exactly where my thoughts were going?”

“I can read it in your eyes, my love. You’re just as naughty as your friend, aren’t you?” He pulled her behind a tree and leaned her against it. He braced his hands against the trunk over her head and leaned in close.

Caroline could see sparks shooting behind the cerulean pools. Jon’s eyes seemed bluer today, enhanced by the reflected color of his cravat. A rich, royal blue, it was knotted expertly around the wing-tipped collar of his shirt and stuck through with a black pearl tie pick. The pure white shirt tucked tightly into straight black trousers, cut high in the ass, accenting another of his best features. The black vest he wore made his chest look even wider than it was, and a discreet gold chain connected his grandfather’s pocket watch to the button at his side.

Jon wore a tailcoat that made his shoulders seem broad enough to take on the weight of the world, and the shirt cuffs that shot through the coat’s sleeves sported gold cufflinks engraved with his initials, “JFBJ”, which Caroline joked stood for “Jon Fucking Bon Jovi” instead of “John Francis Bongiovi, Jr.”

Jon smiled a purely predatory smile, and covered Caroline’s mouth with his, seducing her with his tongue. His hands lowered to frame her face, and Caroline wound her arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him in close. With a motion that was second nature to her, Caroline rose slightly on tip-toe and parted her legs just a little, so Jon could lean into her.

“Jon,” she said on a whisper.

“Yes, my love?” he said. His hands wandered lower, over the creamy white shoulders left bare by the taffeta and velvet confection she wore. The gown had a tight velvet bodice, pushing her delicious breasts up to the point where they looked as if they would spill from the dress. Jon trailed his fingers over the tops of them, making her shiver.

A diagonal row of taffeta roses crossed her from right to left, and Jon traced each one, lingering over the second one, which was situated just over her nipple. Caroline’s breath hitched and a flush began to creep over her skin. Jon’s hands settled around her waist, at the deep vee made by the black velvet. The stark black gave way to miles of royal blue taffeta gathered in a lovely shirred skirt. Caroline had worn a bone hoop underskirt under her dress, which made getting to her a little more difficult, but he was a determined man, and was soon rubbing against her enticingly, making her breath come in fits and starts. He trailed feather-light kisses along her jaw while he stroked her, until he reached the spot behind her ear that drove her wild. He licked and nibbled at that spot until Caroline was gasping.

“I want to play naughty games with you,” she said.

“Anything you want, my lovely, lovely Caroline,” he whispered in her ear a moment before darting his tongue inside.

Jon was startled by a hand clapping him on the shoulder. “I thought you wanted to play cards?” Richie said, smiling at his friend. “Hello, Caroline,” he said to her, winking.

Caroline couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Hey, Rich,” she said, looking somewhere over his left shoulder. She gently pushed Jon off her and kissed his lips. “I’ll let you know what I decide,” she said, tracing his lips with her tongue before stepping away. “Have fun.”

As the men walked back to the card tables, Jon slapped Richie’s back. “Inspired theme for a party, man,” he said. “Inspiring and, uh, enlightening,” he added, smiling at his friend. Richie looked in Jon’s face and saw exactly what he meant.

“Aw hell, Kidd,” he said, a flush creeping up his neck.

Jon just laughed. “Man, you’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. Now how the hell did you get her to agree to that?”

“It was her idea,” Richie said quietly. He looked across the yard and saw Savannah talking with Caroline and Cheryl. The women saw his perusal of them and waved daintily. Savannah blew him a kiss and twitched her skirt, making Jon laugh.

“Damn, bro,” he said, shaking his head.

Richie hooted with laughter. “Jealous, much?” he asked.

“No way, man, Caro, who totally busted you out by the way, is totally into the whole game playing thing.” He smiled at his friend’s sudden discomfort.

“She what?” Richie was mortified. Well if he was honest with himself, he’d admit he was a little thrilled, too.

“You heard me,” Jon laughed. “She saw you slump over your lovely wife as only a man who just got his rocks off could.” He punched Richie’s shoulder. “Nice one.”

“Damn,” Richie chuckled. “No wonder she wouldn’t look at me.”

“Nah, that’s just because you’re ugly,” Jon retorted.

“Fuck you,” Richie said, good-naturedly.

“You’re too old to go again so soon, and besides, I prefer my women a bit shorter than you, Gigantor.”

Richie laughed pounded Jon on the back, and the two men returned to their cards.

It was late when the party finally broke up. Jon and Caroline cruised home in Jon’s newest pride and joy: a 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner convertible. As he’d tell anyone who’d listen, only 684 of these beauties were produced in 1970. It was painted Lemon Twist Yellow, with a black-striped hood. The Roadrunner had factory tach and gauges, as well as a genuine AM radio. The bucket seats, pistol-grip 4-speed, and rally wheels made it his favorite car. This year.

In deference to the party earlier, they had ridden the 20 miles to Richie and Savannah’s with the top up. Now, however, they let the wind blow through their hair as the throaty purr of the bird’s engine heightened their sexual awareness. There was something primal in the low growl that vibrated through the vehicle. Caroline could feel it as she rested her hand over Jon’s on the stick shift. If she put her bare feet on the floorboards, she could feel the rumbling all the way up her legs.

Caroline moved her hand from the stick shift to Jon’s thigh, its muscles straining at the fabric of his costume pants, bunching and relaxing as he worked the gas and clutch. She rubbed slow circles high on his leg, and Jon slid a look her way. “What’s up, honey?”

“Oh,” Caroline said wickedly before sliding her hand over his just-wakening cock, “nothing yet, but I’m working on it.” She rubbed at him for a minute until she saw him white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Only then did she back off. “I’ll stop. We can’t go having an accident before you have your dessert,” Caroline said.

Jon’s pulse leapt in his throat. “Oh, and what might my dessert be?”

“I thought a lovely cold fruit salad with honey would be just the thing for a warm summer’s night.”

Ready for dessert?

Come With Me: The Garden Party (conclusion)

2008-08-18T13:35:00.002-04:00

~ by Hath August 18, 2008

Savannah led him into the house, pausing to make chit chat with people they passed. Richie was in agony wondering what his wife had in store for him. They had their arms around each other’s waists, Savannah’s under his jacket so as not to ruin the line of the suit. She had her thumb tucked into the waistband of his pants, and every so often, gave a discreet tug that made his pulse jump. She saw his flinching out of the corner of her eye, and smiled.

They meandered slowly into the house, stopping to inspect their visage in the full-length mirror hanging in the hall. Savannah removed her hat and fluffed out her hair. “Are you ready for the next part of your present?” she asked idly, as she toyed with the locks that refused to stay tamed.

“Now?” Richie asked, trying to keep his voice level, as there were people milling around. “We have a house – and yard – full of guests.”

“That we do, my love,” Savannah answered. “Do you remember what you told me one of your naughtier fantasies was?”

Richie thought back and chuckled. “Darlin’, there were so many, you’re going to have to help me out.”

Savannah smiled. “Come with me,” she said again. “Upstairs, to our bedroom. There’s a gorgeous balcony up there.” With that, she winked at him in the mirror, and turned for the staircase. Before she ascended, she nodded to one of her closest friends who would help with her little gift-giving, though the other woman didn’t quite know how she was helping.

Richie stood there confused for a moment, then realized what she was talking about. “Oh my sweet Lord,” Richie whispered. He followed after his wife, catching up to her in five long, easy strides. “Are you talking about what I think you are?” he asked her, the excitement in his voice barely contained.

“Why do you think I chose a costume with a full-length zipper, and elected not to wear panties?” She looked at him like he should have had this figured out a long time ago.

“Are you sure?” he asked her. She had been amused by his little fantasy, but hadn’t said she’d do it. That she chose today, with all their friends and family present to indulge, well, it was going to be a birthday to remember.

“Of course I’m sure,” she answered. “Are you sure you can keep a straight face and steady voice?”

Richie chuckled. “We’ll find out.”

Arm-in-arm, they went up to their bedroom. A breeze was carrying the sounds and smells from the party in through their French doors. “Stay back from the doors, sweetheart,” Savannah said to him as she stroked his now-straining erection through the soft cotton of his pants. “Just a few moments, I think,” she said, and cocked an ear toward the door.

“Savannah! You up there?” Savannah smiled. Cheryl was right on cue.

Savannah turned her back to Richie and unzipped the back of her skirt. She bent at the waist, the skirt falling open on either side of her ass, to show him that she was wet and ready. “Whenever you’re ready, love,” she said with a lascivious smile, and sauntered out to the balcony. All the balconies were draped with fabric and flowers, so the railings were obscured. That was all part of the grand plan when she had hired the decorators. She didn’t want anyone to see the two benches she had placed next to the railing, about three feet apart.

After checking to make sure Richie was following, she strode out to the railing, and carefully moved her skirt to kneel with one bare knee on each bench, and leaned forward, bracing herself against the railing, and spreading herself to Richie’s view. “Hi, Cher,” she said to her friend. “What do you need?”

Cheryl smiled. This was all part of the script, though she had no idea why. She was supposed to make idle talk with her until Richie came out onto the balcony, then switch her attention to him. “I wanted to know, where did you find the caterers for this party?”

Savannah and Cheryl talked caterers and party planning for a few minutes, while Richie got himself prepared. He unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, making sure that his arousal stayed tucked in. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to walk almost calmly out to the balcony. He came up behind his wife, and groaned, seeing her spread for him. She was chatting with her friend like she hadn’t a care in the world. Richie smiled. He was one lucky guy. When there was a lull in the conversation, he crept up behind Savannah and quickly thrust two fingers in her, pumping her a few times, and gauging her state of readiness. She gasped, covering it with a yawn and apologized to Cheryl.

“Sorry, honey, we were up early this morning with the preparations.” She looked over her shoulder at Richie, who just grinned at her. She flicked her gaze down, and saw his erection straining, reaching for her, and blew him a kiss before turning back to Cheryl. He slid into her warm, waiting flesh. A slight hitch in her breath, disguised as a hiccup, was the only clue Savannah gave.

He stood behind Savannah, not sure what to do now. Slowly, almost imperceptivity, she started rocking back on him. The high railing and the bunting and flowers let Savannah move her hips without being detected, though if she wasn’t careful, her shoulders and head would move, and give them away. Richie hissed and leaned in to kiss his wife’s cheek. That’s when Cheryl saw him.

“Well, there’s the birthday boy!” Cheryl said brightly. “Are you having a good time?”

Savannah squeezed her muscles around Richie, making his color start to rise. “As a matter of fact, I most certainly am,” he said evenly, though a sheen of perspiration popped along his upper lip. “How about yourself?”

“This is great,” Cheryl answered. “Everyone really went all out with their costumes,” she said.

“That was the whole idea,” Richie said, finding it more difficult to keep his voice even.

Cheryl cocked her head at Richie. “Are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Savannah chuckled, the laughter causing her walls to tighten around him more. Richie smiled. “Well, it is a bit warm,” he said, his breathing starting to sound labored, even to him. He struggled to control himself, but Savannah just kept up the steady rocking and squeezing, and the slowness was making him crazy.

“It is at that,” Cheryl said. “I was surprised to see a Victorian theme,” she laughed. “Somehow togas seemed to be more your style.”

Savannah laughed hard, making Richie suck in a breath and grip her hips to keep from getting expelled. She was doing this on purpose, and he didn’t know whether to kill her or kiss her. Richie grinned and wrapped his arms around Savannah’s waist, pulling himself closer to her and driving him deeper. He leaned over the railing over Savannah’s shoulder to smile down at Cheryl. “That’s exactly what Van said to me while we were getting dressed this afternoon.” He kept his body’s position, close to his wife’s, but dropped a hand to the folds of her skirt. He slowly gathered it up until his fingers found her flesh. He stroked her slowly, and saw a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face. He licked at it and Cheryl laughed.

“If you need a drink, I’ll be happy to send someone up with one,” she said. Their conversation was starting to draw attention, and some of the others were coming over to join Cheryl under the window – Jon among them.

“Hey asshole,” Jon said. “You gonna come and give us a chance to win our money back?”

Jon’s choice of phrase made Richie laugh. “Absolutely,” he said.

“What are you doing up there, anyway?” asked Caroline, who had come to join her husband, snaking an arm around his waist. Jon kissed the side of her head.

“Yeah,” David chimed in. “What’d he go running from the game for, Savannah? What wickedness did you promise him?” There was ribald laughter from the men in the group, and assorted women smacked them.

Savannah squeezed Richie again, and his finger continued its slow torture of her clit. “I came up to give Richie his next birthday present,” she said. “Then Cheryl called up and OW!” she said, dropping a hand to behind her.

“What happened?” Jon asked, laughing. Something was up – Richie didn’t look right. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that Rich was on the verge of, well, no, that couldn’t be. They wouldn’t do that. Well, Richie would, but he doubted that Savannah would go along with it. Still…

“Bug bit my leg,” she said, snaking a hand around behind her and squeezing Richie’s balls. Hard.

“Hey!” he called out, before he could stop himself. He was so close to release, he could practically taste it. He could feel that Savannah was too, and he didn’t miss the look on Jon’s face. He was sure to figure out what they were doing.

“Bug get you too?” Cheryl asked, laughing.

“Something like that,” Richie answered. He felt his eyes start to roll back in his head, and had to fight to keep them focused on the group below.

“C’mon, man,” Jon said. “Leave your wife alone, and get your ass down here and let’s play cards.”

Richie’s laugh ended in a groan as Savannah scored a fingernail between his balls. Jon took that to mean Richie thought he’d lose, though he would swear on his voice that Richie was turned on. He had to laugh. His friend had permanent wood since meeting Savannah.

Richie pinched Savannah’s clit, and her grip on Richie’s arm tightened, nails almost digging through the fabric to bury themselves in his flesh. “In a minute,” Richie said, smiling. “I still need to get my present.” He leaned in to kiss his wife’s cheek, and saw a flush creeping up from under her blouse. “And I think my lovely wife needs to cool off.” He felt her orgasm over take her, the rippling of her flesh exciting him, and the moisture that went with it dripping on him.

“Of course, dear,” Savannah said, taking Richie’s hand and pulling it out from under her skirt and to her mouth. She took his finger into his mouth and bit the end lightly. The group on the lawn saw this and laughed and wolf-whistled. They didn’t know that Savannah tasted her arousal on him, and that the look they shared wasn’t one of promise of later pleasures, it was one of pleasure fulfilled. Richie tightened his arm around Savannah’s waist and he wasn’t going to be able to keep a straight face. Hell, he wasn’t going to be able to keep from slumping against her. She took pity on her husband.

“Jon,” Savannah said, “why don’t you go get the cards ready and Rich’ll be down in a few minutes.”

He looked skeptically at the pair up on the balcony. “You sure it’ll only take a few minutes?”

“Positive,” Richie said, gritting his teeth together.

“Alright, but I’m sending Davey here up after you in five,” he said.

“Fuck you,” David said. “I am not your errand boy.”

The two men continued bickering on their way back to the table. The women meandered away as well, and as soon as their backs were turned, Savannah pushed roughly against Richie, taking him deeper still. Richie grabbed her hips and after making sure nobody was looking, thrust hard into her once, twice, three times before exploding, groaning low in his throat, and dropping his head to his wife’s shoulder.

Savannah kept up the gentle internal massaging motions until Richie started to slip from her. “Careful, baby,” Savannah said. “We have to return these costumes tomorrow.”

Richie laughed and took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wrapped it around himself before gently easing his spent member back into his pants. He helped Savannah down from the benches, and the pair went in to get cleaned up and rejoin their guests.

“Happy birthday, Rich,” Savannah said to him, as they made their way back to the party.

Richie swept her up in a hug. “It sure was,” he said, his mouth descending on hers in a long passionate kiss.

~ THE END ~

His Point of View

2008-08-17T22:33:00.002-04:00

~ by Hath, August 17, 2008

I grab your hand as you walk past and pull you to me. You look in my eyes and aren't quite sure what you see there. I'll smile indulgently and give you a knowing look. Your pulse races as you realize what I mean to do.

When I sit and pull you across my lap, you let out a startled 'oh!'. I raise your skirt, showing me the creamy globes of your ass. The first smack stings, but after that, well, you don't mind so much.

By the fifth slap, you're squirming, and I can't control the response my body has to your movements. I'm so hard I can barely breathe. My slaps are lighter now, mere caresses, but to your over-sensitized flesh, the touch is almost unbearable. I lean down to kiss the red marks my hand has left on your unblemished flesh, and you purr.

I pull you up to sit, and you straddle my thighs, grinding against me as our mouths fuse together.

I plunge my tongue into your hot mouth and take all you'll give me. I reach up to grab your hair with one hand and angle you so I can go as deep as I can. Your hands fumble at my belt and I let your mouth go to stand us up, undo my pants, and rip your panties from your body. I crush you to me again, and plunder your mouth as I test your wetness with first one, then two fingers. They slide easily, so I add a third, and your knees buckle. Smiling, I sit again, and this time when you straddle me, it's to take my length inside you.

I feel you closing over me. I'm amazed that you can be so soft and so hard at the same time. Your muscles clench around me, squeezing me and it's all I can do to not grab your hips and bounce you on my lap. You set the pace, rolling your hips slowly. I unbutton your blouse and slide it from your shoulders, pleased to find you aren't wearing a bra.

I tear my mouth from yours to kiss my way down your neck, and lower still, to latch onto one pebbled nipple, pulling it into my mouth like my favorite candy. I roll my tongue over it, then my teeth, pulling gently. When you moan, I suck deep, making you grab my shoulders. You're starting to thrash now, and it won't be long until I feel you rippling around me, cumming hard. I can hardly wait.

I feel my thighs start to tense, and that tightening in my balls tells me it won't be long now. I don't want to release until you do, so I carry us across the room to the bed. Laying you down on the edge of the bed, I gently untangle your legs from around my waist and rest your ankles on my shoulders. I grab your hands and hold on as I tease you now, stroking slowly out of you until I'm almost free of your tender, hot flesh, then slamming home, burying myself to the hilt in you.

Again and again I pound you, the sounds of our bodies slapping together and the ragged breathing we share are the only noises in the room. I watch, fascinated, as your eyes start to roll back, and your head thrashes from side to side. You shake your hands free from mine, and fist them into the sheets, using your arms as leverage to raise your hips in time with the grueling rhythm I've set.

I still can't get deep enough; can't feel like I totally possess you. Roughly grabbing your ankles, I push at your feet, bending your legs so your knees are up near your delectable ears, exposing you more to me. I watch as my flesh slides easily into and out of yours, and I notice your poor lonely clit all but begging for attention. Smiling, I angle an arm so both your feet are braced against it, and I have my other hand free.

I moisten one finger, dipping it into my mouth, then slowly circle the little bundle of nerves nestled in the dark curls in front of me. You hiss and try to arch from the bed, but it's impossible from the position I have you in.

You cry out my name, begging me to take you over the edge, and how can I refuse. The circling around your clit gets faster and harder, and your eyes are completely rolled back now, tears leaking from their corners as you let a groan escape from your chest, slinking out between your swollen lips. Then you go over. I can feel the rush of moisture as you cum, and I move faster and faster in you. Your walls are pulsing around me, milking me, and one hard contraction, hitting just as I bury myself to the root in you, sets me off. I drop my arms, so I can brace them beside your head, letting your knees drape over my forearms. I ride the waves with you until every slight motion is almost painful.

I gather you up in my arms, and climb onto the bed, keeping us intimately joined. I lay us down together, and we doze happily. Sated...

For now...

Come With Me: The Garden Party

2008-08-17T22:25:00.008-04:00

~ by Hath, August 17, 2008

Mr. and Mrs. Richard Sambora
Request the pleasure of your company
On Saturday, the Eleventh of July
At four o'clock.

A Victorian Garden Party
Costumes Required

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Savannah said, as they were dressing for the party.

Richie smiled. “Thanks, baby. This is going to be fun, even though it’s hotter than hell out there.”

Savannah laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to have a themed party, dear,” she reminded him. “A toga party would have been more appropriate for July.”

“Yeah, but I cut a very dashing figure in my costume, don’t you think?”

Savannah considered her husband. Fancy gray-pinstriped black trousers, with a straight, boot-cut leg graced his powerful legs. Tucked into the slim waist of the pants was a snow-white wing-tip shirt, complete with black silk puff tie and a large diamond tie pick; one of the gifts she had presented to him today. It was covered over by a gorgeous, double-breasted burgundy vest which sported a notched collar and fancy silver buttons. Over top of that, he wore a black formal tailcoat, complete with decorative front buttons in a V pattern up the plackets, and a peaked lapel.

And topping his head, of course, was a hat. Not any hat, however. A dove-gray formal topper. A high hat with a deep brim, curled slightly on the sides. A burgundy grosgrain ribbon was tied in a small, flat bow tie on the side. Gray gloves and an ebony walking stick completed the look.

“You are gorgeous, sir,” Savannah said, curtseying before dropping her dressing gown to get dressed herself. She wore gray stockings clipped into a black garter belt and matching bra.

Richie’s eyes went wide. “Where are your panties?”

Savannah smiled. “Why do I need them?”

Richie’s eyes darkened and he crossed the room to take his wife in his arms. “Oh happy birthday to me. Do you know what knowing that is going to do to me today?”

“Of course,” his wife replied, then patted his cock gently and kissed his lips before slowly backed away to don her own ensemble.

A dove-gray Moiré Gibson Girl walking skirt fell to her feet, dipping slightly lower in the back than in the front. It had a button at the back, and a zipper that ran the full length of the skirt. A sleeveless burgundy cotton camisole was tucked in, making her waist look smaller than it was. The jacket she wore matched the skirt perfectly. The outing jacket had puff sleeves, a notched collar, and five fabric-covered buttons. In the back, there was a tieback, which would pull the jacket close to her breasts.

Not to be outdone in the head-topper department, Savannah had an ostentatious hat of her own. Black with a netting wrapped around it that would trail to her waist, it sported burgundy silk, lace, flowers, and feathers. It was gorgeous and showy and was perfect with her outfit. She carried a delicate burgundy fringed parasol which would be good cover from the sun.

“Wel,” she said, twirling around and assuming a coquettish pose.

“Delicious, my pet,” Richie said, his eyes darkening. He hooked an elbow out for Savannah to take as they made their way downstairs to prepare to meet their guests.

The engraved invitations went out two weeks ago, and they had gotten no regrets. Savannah smiled inwardly at the thought of all those people on her lawn while she gave Richie his other, more personal gift.

At precisely four o’clock, Savannah took her place on the lawn, greeting their guests. As the cars came around the driveway to the front of the house, Richie was waiting to open doors and usher the ladies inside where they could rearrange their costumes if they wished. A hired liveried “servant” would be in attendance to then show the ladies out back where Savannah would receive them.

In keeping with tradition, a tent was pitched toward the back of the lawn, shading the food from the heat of the sun. Laid out on beds of ice were various salads, cold birds, ham, pâté de foie gras, salmon dressed with a green sauce, jellies, ices, cakes, punch, and champagne. Tea and coffee, bread and butter and biscuits, sandwiches, fruit, and lemonade were laid out as well. The caterers had outdone themselves in their bid to be authentic.

The lawn’s broad expanse was pocketed with sofas, arm-chairs, and ordinary chairs from the house, with basket chairs and garden seats intermingled with them; Turkey rugs were laid down on the grass in front of the seating areas; and small tables were scattered among the chairs. A jazz quartet was playing formal music while the guests arrived. They would play livelier tunes once the party got into full swing.

Various games were set up on the lawns as well: archery, croquet, and lawn tennis among them. Chess and checkerboards were set up in the shade of the elm trees, and under the grand oak in the middle of the yard sat two poker tables with leather chairs. The guests were amused at the lengths the Samboras went to for their annual bash, but they never left disappointed.

A team of wait staff, dressed as Victorian servants, were instructed to preserve the proprieties of a proper dinner. There would be no piles of dirty dishes, knives, forks, or spoons visible on the green grass; baskets would be in readiness to carry off everything as soon as it was discarded. There was a sufficient quantity of glass and china in use, and plenty of linen napkins, so that there would be no delay in serving the refreshments. The lemonade and punch bowls would be continually replenished from the dining-room, and a set of staff dressed as maid-servants, in caps and aprons would watch the table, noticing if the cups, spoons, plates, wine glasses, and forks were abundant and clean.

Everything looked perfect.

Once all the guests had arrived and had been photographed so they’d have a souvenir of the day, Savannah and Richie split up, each to attend to his or her own friends. When their eyes would meet across the yard, Richie would remember what his bride was not wearing under her gown, and would start to get hard. Since the costume left very little room for that, he’d quickly turn his thoughts back to the conversation at hand, effectively putting a damper on his arousal.

Two hours into the party, Savannah approached Richie, a sly smile on her face. “Richie, darling, I need you for a minute.”

Richie, who was playing cards with assorted band mates and other friends, looked at his wife. “Can it wait until after this hand? I’ve nearly fleeced these suckers.”

Savannah just smiled, and leaned down to whisper into his ear, “Come with me.”

“Fold!” Richie called, and tossed his cards on the table. He grabbed his wife’s hand and let her lead him to whatever it was she had planned for him.

The Party Concludes Here

His Point of View (II)

2008-08-11T17:15:00.003-04:00

~ by Hath, August 17, 2008

Just so you know, I'm no slouch in the fucking department.

Mind you, I enjoy a variety, though, so no matter how much you beg for it, you don't get my cock right away. We'll get to that. First, I want to taste you. All of you. I start with your neck, your delicious, peach-scented neck. I don't know how you do it, but even at the end of the day, your scent makes me want to eat you alive. I'll nibble at that sensitive part of you, right where the neck and shoulder meet, and you'll give off a new scent - one that teases my nostrils and makes me long to bury my tongue in your pussy.

But not yet.

First, I want to lick my way down over your collarbone to that valley between your gorgeous breasts. A small amount of sweat glistens there, and I lap hungrily at it, savoring the slight saltiness. Your sigh encourages me, and I meander over to one plump, pink nipple and take just a sip. Just a taste. It leaves me hungry for more, but I must see if its twin tastes the same. It does. For long minutes, I alternate between your peaks, licking with long strokes, then blowing on the moisture left behind so I can raise gooseflesh. The cool air makes you pucker more, makes them stand straighter, taller, all but begging to be sucked.

How can I refuse their silent pleading?

First one then the other disappears into my mouth as I suckle on you as gently as a novice. I swirl my tongue around them and bite just a little, just enough to make you gasp. Then I soothe the bites with gentle, teasing kisses. You start to squirm, and want me to linger longer, but I was never one for appetizers.

I kiss my way down your body, stopping to lave at a stray freckle or to nibble on your ribs. After a quick dip of my tongue into your navel, I continues my journey south, over your hip and to the silky soft skin of your inner thigh. By now, your arousal is potent, wafting over me like a drug. I am convinced you are wet for me, but want to find out.

I hold you open, stretching your lips so your most intimate secrets are mine to see. I stretch my tongue to its fullest length and with just the tip, lap at your opening. You scream in frustration but I now now your flavor -- the taste that is only you.

And I'm addicted.

Holding your hips down with my arms, I attack, thrusting my tongue in deep, lapping at all the sweet juicy goodness I find there. I moan in pleasure at the tastes and smells that you share with me. You're writhing now, because I'm not doing what you want, what you need. I'm not trying to make you cum, I just want to eat you. The cumming will come later (pun intended). Spying your sly little clit, nestled in those soft, fragrant curls, I smile. Slowly withdrawing my tongue, I lick my lips and look into your slumberous eyes. Without breaking eye contact, I move closer to that little bundle of nerves that place where you long to feel my mouth.

You hold your breath, afraid that the slightest word from you will break the spell, but there's nothing that will stop me now. I latch onto your clit like I did your nipples before, and suck hard. You scream with pleasure, and I can tell you are on the very edge of control. When you make that last little hitching breath that I know comes before long low moan of release, I thrust roughly into you, forcing you to take my whole length at once. Your body immediately reacts, dumping moisture on me like a flood. You squeeze tightly, not wanting me to move, but move I will. Slowly at first, I will withdraw from you almost completely, leaving just the tip teasing your hole, then will slam you, hard as you'll take it. Over and over I'll do this, until again, the hitching breath comes. This time I won't stop. I'll let you go over the edge, trying desperately to take me with you.

But my will is strong.

And the night is young.

You are panting and begging for more, even as you try to pull yourself together. I smile wickedly and withdraw from you completely, and urge you to lay on your stomach. I slide a pillow under your hips, position myself behind you, and push into your still quivering flesh. The change in angle is almost too much to bear, but soon, you are grabbing onto the spindles of the iron headboard and slamming backwards with almost as much force as I am using to slam into you.

I reach around to grab your nipples, pinching almost painfully. "Harder," you gasp, and I don't know whether you mean to pound your pussy harder or pinch your nipples more, so I do both, making you scream.

I feel your walls pulsing around me again, and I drop one hand to your clit and start rubbing. You moan "no", but that is not our safety word, so I don't stop. I see your arms shaking as they hold the bedframe, and smile, knowing that this time, this orgasm is going to make you hiss. The second one is a hisser for you. I've fucked you this hard enough times before to know that.

I am not disappointed.

My name escapes your lips on a breath, the last "eeee" sound drawn out on a whisper, and morphs into an "ohhhhh" as you release. One giant contraction, and you are jolting, trying to shake me off, but I hold your hips tightly, roughly, and am unrelenting. I want to wait until the fourth one, the begging, screaming fourth one, before I allow myself to cum inside you.

Come With Me: My Pet

2008-08-09T10:27:00.005-04:00

~ by Hath, August 9, 2008

“Come with me,” you said. Those three words had my pussy dripping.

I knew when you started the conversation with those three little words, we were about to try something new. You were adventurous, and you knew I was too, and nothing so far has been outside the realm of what we would do to each other. You silently led me into a room – the room – deep in the bowels of your mansion. With each step, I could feel myself growing more and more aroused. This room held nothing but pleasure for us over the years: unbearable, erotic, satisfying pleasure.

The room was dominated by a huge four-poster bed, centered in front of an alcove containing a curtained picture window. Gleaming mahogany nightstands flanked the bed, and a mirror, currently covered over, hung on the ceiling. I approached the bed and moaned, my pussy shuddering in appreciation. There were velvet ropes hanging from each of the bedposts. My pulse kicked up as I got an idea of what was going to happen.

You pointed me toward the window, your hands gentle on my shoulders, and urged me to walk toward the wall. A large metal ring was bolted into the wall on either side of the window. That was new. I looked at you over my shoulder, and your eyes twinkled with mischief. “What is this?” I asked.

“Shhh,” you answered stroking my hair. “Take your clothes off, Savannah, but leave your heels on.”

I hesitated for only a moment, then the heat in your gorgeous eyes made me hasten to obey. When I was naked, you circled me, perusing every inch of skin, trailing your fingertips in your gaze’s wake. “Open your legs,” you said to me. When I did, you dropped to your knees in front of me and grabbed my ass, licking my pussy roughly with sure, hard strokes. As I was perched on the edge of oblivion, you stopped. “Nice,” you said, licking your lips. “Your pussy is dripping wet already.”

“Always for you,” I said, knowing that the slight lowering of my voice and the huskiness would have your cock hardening.

You locked eyes with mine for a long moment, then you turned away to retrieve something from the nightstand. You came back with two thick leather wristlets, each with a silver ring hanging from it. My breathing was coming in aroused gasps as I raised my wrists so you could fasten them onto me. Satisfied you secured them properly you pulled two lengths of ordinary hemp rope from your pockets. “This should do,” you said archly. You threaded one end of the rope through the ring attached to each wristlet. You tied the other ends to the metal rings on the wall.

I was bound now, arms stretched wide across the window alcove. If you pulled open the curtains, I would be able to look out over our backyard fountain. And whoever was working in the yard would see me.

“Spread your legs,” you commanded. “You will find yourself more stable.” I did as I was told. “You are mine now, Savannah, mine because I choose to make you mine. Mine because you chose to come with me.” You brushed my curly hair back away from my anxious blue eyes. God I wish you’d get on with it already.

You just smiled, smug bastard.

I heard you moving behind me, near the bed, then you stood before me again, something dark in your hands. You held out the article for my inspection. I swallowed the lump in my throat. The item in your hands was clearly some sort of dildo, but it had what looked like a horsetail on the end. “What is that?” I asked, my mouth running dry.

“This, my pet, is your tail,” you said. You gently inserted it into my pussy, coating it with my juices, twisting it around inside me and making me moan, igniting the fire again. You removed it just as gently and showed it to me. Its length was glistening in the dim light of the room. I watched as you used a finger to make sure every inch was coated and when you found a spot that wasn’t, you dipped a finger into my pussy to collect more.

When you were happy that it was coated thoroughly, and that I was hovering once again on the very edge of sanity, you circled around to stand behind me, put a gentle hand on my shoulder and trailed it down my back to the swell of my ass. “Relax, Savannah,” you said, and I tried, but it was difficult. You urged me to bend slightly at the waist, to give you greater access, and you slowly pushed the plug into my ass, twisting it gently until it was all the way in. As it moved up my tunnel, the sense of “full” took on a whole new meaning. The press of that rubber in a place we had yet to explore until that moment was sensual and amazing, and I hope next time it’s your cock filling and stretching me there.

When it was seated, you kissed the small of my back. “Close your legs,” you ordered. I did. “Very nice,” you said, fluffing out the tail’s hair. The hair was long, tickling the back of my knees. “Don’t let it slip out my pet,” you said sternly.

You left me again to retrieve another item from the nightstand. I heard a click and a discreet hum. Oh God, you have my vibrator. It had a thick, 8” long shaft with an egg on the end that was angled so it would hit my G-spot. I didn’t know you knew about that. You smiled at my surprise, and stood in front of me.

“I know everything about you, Savannah, my pet,” you said, touching the vibrating end of the toy against my clit.

The smooth surface of the toy did nothing to ease the ache you had caused, and you knew it. Chuckling sexily, you aimed it toward my slick opening. Torturously slow, you slid it inside me, ensuring it was angled right. The feel of that in my pussy and the plug in my ass was overwhelming. The vibrations jiggled the dildo in my ass, and set my tail twitching, and the hair brushing my thighs and knees made me want to tremble, but I fought against it.

You smiled and kissed me then, the first kiss of the evening. I tasted myself on your hot mouth and I tried to make you feel how hungry you had made me. I twined my tongue with yours, and cried out when you dialed up the speed on the vibrator. It was pulsing so fast in me, my vision started to swim.

“Fight it, Savannah,” you said, breaking the kiss, and tugging gently on my tail, making me gasp. “Do not cum yet.”

You stripped off your shirt, the ripped muscles of your chest and arms taunting me with their beauty. I struggled against the bonds, wanting to touch you, but you just laughed. “Oh no, Savannah,” you said. “This is my time to play.” You stood in the alcove and put a hand on the gold curtain-pulls, watching as my eyes went wide. After peeking out between the drapes and turning back to me with a smile, you opened the curtains slightly, letting the afternoon sunlight stream across my nakedness. Perched on the window sill, you watched me struggle to hold my orgasm back, pleased that I was doing as you commanded.

It seemed like an eternity before you stood and came to me, grazing your fingers over my breasts, teasing and plucking at my nipples until they were painfully hard. You tilted your head just so, and watched as your fingers trailed over my belly and down into the thatch of curls. You made no move to touch my clit, and I couldn’t help the cry of frustration that escaped my lips.

With each methodical stroke of your fingertips, my pussy was pulsing, expanding and contracting in time with your motions. You again dragged your fingertips close to my clit, but not quite touching, and my knees buckled. You paused, waiting for me to straighten again, then dropped to your knees before me to study my clit: distended and protruding from between my aching lips.

With a smile, you said, “Now, cum for me, my pet,” then pinched my clit and that was enough. The orgasm broke over me, hot and hard; my sex, it felt, turned inside out. The room turned red as you lapped around the base of the vibrator so none of my cum would trickle down my legs. I screamed your name then hung helpless in my bonds, writhing, twitching, undone.

When I returned to awareness, I found that you had removed the ass-tail and vibrator, and my body felt strangely bereft. I missed the fullness, and hoped we weren’t done yet. I watched through lust-hooded eyes as you unfastened my wrists from the walls. You massaged my shoulders and upper arms, urging the blood to flow back into them, all the while kissing me tenderly and murmuring words of gratitude and love.

Knowing I was weak as a kitten, you scooped me into your strong, sure arms and finally I got to touch your sculpted chest, though I lacked the strength to even lick at one of your delicious nipples. With proud, sure steps, you carried me to the bed, laying me down gently, before stepping back to strip off the rest of your clothes. When you were gloriously naked you slid your body up mine until your throbbing cock, harder than I thought possible, slid into my tight, wet pussy, and I arched from the bed with a scream of pure pleasure.

“I love you, Savannah,” you said, as you stroked me gently, building me up again. With an evil grin, you reached for the velvet rope hanging from the closest bedpost.

“I love you too, Richie,” I answered, raising my arm to be bound once again.

~ THE END ~

Goddess' Notes:

Savannah: I hope this cheers you and FINALLY gives you inspiration to write about The Dark One ;o)

Richie Darlin': I'll be your Savannah anytime...

Busted

2008-04-30T14:59:00.005-04:00

ONE

David had dressed carefully tonight. A green crew-necked jersey, half a size too small, accented his physique. It stretched across his broad shoulders and clung happily to his chest. He wore it tucked in to faded, tight blue jeans softened by years of washing. His legs were stretched out under the table, and his boot-clad feet were crossed at the ankles. The herringbone sport coat he had topped the whole thing off with was draped on the back of his chair as he waited for her to arrive.

Jennifer thought this whole month had just been surreal. Early in the month, she got an email, several in fact, from friends telling her that one of her 'Richie' stories had been excerpted on the band's website. She had been mortified, and immediately went on to ask the mods to remove the post. They didn't.

She got lots more hits on her website after that, and she was horrified to see the tracker had several dozen different IP addresses tracked in New Jersey. She refused to even consider what that could mean, and after a couple of days, Jennifer forgot all about it. She actually berated herself for her inflated ego. Of course they wouldn't make a big deal about it. Ignore it, and it goes away. Call attention to it, and it becomes a big deal. Besides, they didn’t have the time or the inclination to read that stuff, right?

A week ago, she got a call from a friend-of-a-friend, saying that he had submitted her resume for a job in New Jersey, and that they wanted to meet her. She was surprised but touched that her friends were looking out for her, knowing she hated her current job, and would relocate anywhere to be away from it . When she found out that the job was for Bon Jovi Management, she told her friend forget it. There was no way she could do that. She was a fan for Christ's sake. A vocal one. They are very careful to keep the over-zealous fans away from the day-to-day lives of the band. And besides, even if she did get the job, she'd never be able to be professional around them.

Her friend Paul had laughed, “But you're a computer geek, Jennifer," he'd said, making her laugh too. "Doesn't that mean you're a Borg or something? No emotions, no lust..."

"That's computer Goddess, Paul," she corrected, "and no it doesn’t. Not at all."

“You a chicken then?” he asked, knowing that would push her buttons.

It did.

Jennifer agreed to go to Jersey to meet someone for the interview, figuring it couldn't hurt to meet with someone and see what the job was all about. Besides, if they kept the techno-geeks in the sub-basement or something like most organizations did, the chances of her running into any of THEM and making an ass of herself went down dramatically.

So, she took a room in Newark for the night, and arrived early. She had a chance to shower off the travel ick and dress to impress. She wore her best black Armani suit; its straight skirt settling a full three inches above her whisper-sheer stocking-covered knees. The fitted jacket hung open, showing a pale peach scoop-necked silk shell, and a delicate strand of pearls around her neck. Her hair was in an elaborate up-do, piled artfully atop her head and four-inch Jimmy Choos brought her height up over six feet.

She had applied minimal makeup; the summer months having been good to her in the tanning department, and with a last critical look in the full-length mirror, she left her room. In the lobby, the doorman hailed a cab for her. She settled into the back of the car and made the trip across town.

Jennifer had arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, and gave her name. "Your dinner companion is already here," the hostess informed her with a smile. Jennifer was led through the dimly lit restaurant to a table tucked in the back. She stopped dead when she saw the back of a man's head. Those glorious golden curls had her doing a double-take. She shook her head slightly, chagrined to find that she had the band on the brain. Clearly, sub-basement or not, this would never work out, but at least she'd get a good dinner out of it.

Then the stood and turned to her, and all the blood drained from her face. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out, but she recovered somewhat and pasted on a sickly smile.

David had smiled widely at her distress, then got a good look at her, and his smile faded. This was not what at all what he expected. She was beautiful, well and expensively dressed, and seemed really put out that she wasn't meeting with someone else. They introduced themselves to each other, shook hands, had settled in to their seats to give their drink orders: Jack and Coke for him, ice water with lemon for her. They made idle chit-chat while Jennifer worked really hard not to throw up.

He considered the woman across from him as they talked. When David started on this little lark, to his friends' unanimous disapproval, it was with the intention of making her feel uncomfortable and humiliated. Sure, they all knew there were fiction writers, and more than once, one or another of the guys would come across one that made them really REALLY glad they chose this particular kind of work. They even, some of them anyway, bookmarked some of the sites to read when they had alone time.

This time, though, it was different. The story bit, in all its dirty glory (he had to grudgingly admit that though Rich was the character in the story, the writing was hot) was posted on their main, family-friendly message board. In the back of his head, David felt sure that this woman did it on purpose, to get her name out there. So, he had come up with an elaborate ruse to meet her, and she came. Reluctantly, he was surprised to learn, but still here she was all the same.

David waited until the waitress had left with their dinner orders to make his move. "So I understand you're a storyteller," he said.

TWO

David’s blue eyes twinkled and sparkled as they caught the low lights of the restaurant. He needed to jump right into the reason for this dinner – he was starting to forget this wasn’t a date. "So I understand you're a storyteller," he said again, when the woman didn’t respond the first time.

Jennifer nearly choked on her drink. Jesus, he knew?

"What does that have to do with the job?" she blurted, then groaned under her breath. Any hope of later denial had now flown out the window. The right response would have been “Huh?” She didn't really want to think about the implications of that question, but she couldn’t help it. Her face colored, but she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the man sitting across from her. David just looked at her, with a self-satisfied smirk creeping across his face, and something clicked in Jennifer’s head. “There is no job, is there?”

David shook his head. “Nope.” He should be quite pleased with himself for pulling off this ruse and getting her to all but admit she was one of those fan fiction writers, so why now did he feel bad about her discomfort?

Jennifer just stared at him. “Just what the hell is going on here?” she asked David, anger creeping into her voce.

“You know exactly what is going on,” he countered, startled at her show of backbone.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re screwing me around here. I don’t take that from people I know, never mind people I’ve just met.” She stood and gathered her purse, opening it to take money from it. She placed some bills on the table next to her drink. “That ought to cover my dinner.” Her voice was soft but strong; no less powerful for the low volume. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure,” she said, her brown eyes hard and cold.

She started to walk past him, but David stilled her with a hand on her arm. Jennifer looked at his hand then into his face, and with a deadly edge to her soft voice said, “Get your fucking hand off of me. Now.”

He snatched his hand back like she had bit it. "Don't go," he said. "Please."

"Why on earth would I want to stay?" Jennifer was way past mad, and was perilously close to full-out pissed off. She did not want to be pissed off in this crowded restaurant. She got loud and cursed like a sailor when she got pissed off. She took a deep breath, choking back the words, “You’re a fucking idiot” before they could escape. "I don’t particularly care for the dinner conversation, and if there’s no job in the offing, then this has been a colossal waste of my time and money.” She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t appreciate being played with.”

“Please, sit down,” David said, and something in his eyes made her want to do it.

“Shit,” she said, and did as she was asked. The animosity was wafting off of Jennifer like her sweet, peach-scented perfume.

David toyed with his glass and took a long drink. This wasn’t going at all the way he had hoped it would. In his head, he had confronted her with her alter ego, made her see that she could write all the ‘no offense intended’ disclaimers she wanted, it still didn’t make it right. In his head, she got all embarrassed, and flustered. If he was honest with himself, that’s as far as it went in his head – the woman running from the restaurant all upset. She was ready to do just that, so why in the hell did he stop her?

Somewhere between their stilted introductions and the arrival of their drinks, however, he suddenly didn’t really want to just confront her anymore. He wanted to charm her, not annoy her. What the hell was the matter with him? Giving his leg a pinch to snap himself out of his reverie, David spoke to her in a low tone, trying to turn things back to the way he originally intended. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase here, Hath,” he said, emphasizing her penname. He didn’t take any pleasure in the pall that fell over her as he busted her out. In his head, he’d been crowing like mad.

“Oh my sweet Jesus,” Jennifer whispered.

The waitress chose that time to bring their dinners. Jennifer’s filet mignon sat untouched while she processed what had just happened. David started to dig into his Porterhouse, but stopped, fork halfway to mouth, when he saw the expression on Jennifer’s face.

“Oh don’t act so surprised,” David said, trying for an anger he didn’t feel. “You knew I knew about you when I called you a ‘storyteller’. C’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t hope this would happen.” He sneered at her. “Or were you hoping for Richie to come and confront you about that post?”

“What the hell are – oh shit,” Jennifer said, as it clicked. They had seen the post over at the website. Well, at least one of them did.

“Yeah,” David said, chewing away happily, “’oh shit’ indeed. You do know that is supposed to be a family-friendly board, right?”

“You think I did that? Why on earth would I do that? I have plenty of people who come to my website to read my stories.” Jennifer was getting over her embarrassment and was heading back to anger. She decided that anger was good. She wouldn’t puke if she was angry. “That’s what this is all about?” She shook her head. “Jesus,” she said.

David signaled the waitress, and ordered another drink. He smiled to himself when Jennifer ordered a glass of wine instead of a refill on her water. They sat in silence until the drinks came; David eating his meal, Jennifer just staring at hers.

“Everything OK with your steak, miss?” the waitress asked nervously, slanting her eyes between her and David.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Jennifer answered, and waited for the waitress to leave.

Once she did, David spoke again. “You’re little story caused quite a bit of conversation,” he said. Jennifer muttered something that he didn’t catch. “What’d you say?”

“Part,” Jennifer said again, though still quietly. “It was part of a story, and I did NOT post that myself.” Her voice was earnest, and David wanted to believe her. “You must have seen my real post, right? The one where I asked the mods to remove it? Why didn’t they?”

David shrugged. “Who knows? Obie saw it and was giving us shit about it, and everyone was all sort of amused by the whole thing.” He shook his head. They were mostly amused because she had captured their essence almost exactly. That was the kind of thing they would really do, or would have done ten years ago at least. Hell, if he taxed his memory, it probably HAD been done at one time or another. It was unnerving that someone not in their circle of family and friends would be so dead-on about them.

David took a bite of his dinner, and chewed it slowly, ready to gauge her reaction. “Richie, the pig, wanted to read more, and figured out how to get to your,” he made a disdain-filled face, “website.”

“He did not,” Jennifer said, the pleading evident in her voice.

David smiled. “Oh yes, darlin’. He sure as shit did.”

Jennifer had drained her wine glass, and was looking wildly around for the waitress so she could get a refill. This was one of her worst nightmares come true. It was one thing to write that kind of thing and say to her friends, “yeah, ha ha, what if they actually read this stuff,” but it was quite something else to know that they had. The waitress returned, and Jennifer asked her to leave the bottle.

“And, nice guy that he is, he shared it with all of us. And damn, weren’t we all just shocked at what we found,” he shook his head. “I mean we’re not idiots; we know there are all sorts of stories written about us, but you guys have little clubs and shit? Jesus.” He shook his head. “Some of the stories on those sites...well let’s just say ‘damn’ just about covers it.”

Sweet Jesus, they’ve been on the boards.

“Look, if it bothers you so much, you didn’t have to read any of it, and you certainly didn’t have to click around. That’s what the little ‘x’ in the upper right-hand corner of the window is for.” Jennifer got over her shock and embarrassment enough to think of something. “How in the hell did you track my online persona back to me? I’m very careful not to use my full name anywhere, even when I sign up on those boards.” As a technology expert, she knew damn well how she would have done it. It’d be very easy to do if you had the right connections, and she was pretty sure these guys would have the right connections. Hell she had the connections... She was just surprised that they would want to bother.

Sure enough, David told her how he had roped one of the techs at BJM into helping him find out who she was. He started with an IP address, and traced it back through her internet service provider. Then he had a name, but nothing else. He’d spent some time reading her profiles on various boards, and found enough identical bits about where she was from, where she liked to hang out, things about her friends – bits that if someone who knew her had read them, would know in a heartbeat it was her. He basically cyberstalked her like she had the guys for so long. Being on the receiving end of that didn’t feel too good. She blanched when David told her he found a connection to someone she knew, and floated the fake job offer, and voila! here she was. Jennifer she cursed herself for being so stupid. Over time, she’d gotten less concerned with keeping her identity and personal details completely secret. She should have done a better job.

Jennifer’s mind was racing. A friend of Paul’s had set up this whole thing. Shit, that means that Paul’s friend was what, the tech that helped David? Did Paul know about her secret little life now? She was very careful not to let anyone in her real life know about Hath. One ‘real’ girlfriend knew about her, but it was because she was accidentally outed as a writer by, she smiled at the thought, fans of her stories before a concert. Her friend was fine with it, and actually enjoyed her writing, and had promised to keep it a secret.

Shit, Paul’d never let her live it down if he knew about this. Women got the appeal of the band and appreciated the sexy writing – straight guys did not, and Paul was as straight as they come. Jennifer groaned and put her head in her hands. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t realize that David was waiting for a response to a question she apparently didn’t hear him ask. She looked at him, confused.

"So, answer the question: why haven’t you written any stories about me?" he asked again.

Jennifer gaped at him. “You can’t be seriously asking me that question.” She looked into his face. Jesus, he was serious. She didn't know where to look or what to do. Answer the question? Or bolt like the scared rabbit in her chest wanted her to?

THREE

David was staring at her, waiting for her answer. When in doubt, punt.

"I don’t know," she said nervously, sounding like a five-year-old. How the hell was she supposed to answer that question? How was she supposed to tell this man that he just didn’t do it for her – that she didn’t think of him in that way? He was just the goofy, cute, jokester of a brother who could be counted on for just-shy-of-inappropriate jokes to diffuse a tense situation. Jennifer realized David wasn’t’ going to let it go, though, and she couldn’t really say all that to him.

Especially now that she was sitting there, not more than five feet away from him, and getting all sorts of nasty ideas in her head about just what those tight clothes he was wearing were hiding from her. He really was built. Up close, she could see the outline of his pecs under his shirt. He had the sleeves pushed up halfway to his elbows, and his sinewy forearms hinted at powerful strength. She couldn’t see under the table, but she suspected his legs and ass were just as powerful.

She felt her color rise, and hoped to hell that he interpreted the blush on her face as embarrassment, and not arousal.

"I guess I hadn't gotten the right inspiration," she finished lamely. "God, I can't believe I said that. I’m really going to go now." Jennifer started to gather her things again, and knocked her purse off the seat. David reached across the table to put a hand over her arm, stopping her from reaching under the table to get it. This time she didn’t tell him off, but she didn’t look into his face, either.

"I’ll bet I could inspire you," he said, dead serious, “if you’ll give me half a chance.”. That remark had her looking up in to eyes that had darkened to the deep blue of a perfect August afternoon. How the hell did he get his eyes to do that? He traced his thumb back and forth on Jennifer’s arm, and watched as the light contact had her pupils dilating.

Jennifer just stared at him. The color drained from her face. "You don't mean that," she said. “You just want me to feel awkward and stupid. Fine. You win, okay? Big rock star made the fan feel like shit. Congratulations.” She shook off his hand and bent under the table to snag her purse. She straightened and looped her purse strap over her shoulder, absently rubbing at the spot where David had touched her, and trying to will away the hot tears of embarrassment that were gathering at the back of her eyes.

"What, you chicken?” he taunted, smiling at her. His eyes locked on hers, and she couldn’t read his expression. “Bawk, bawk,” he said softly. She didn’t see mockery in his face, just a clear challenge.

Jennifer didn’t usually back down from a challenge.

She shook her head at David. "No, I’m not a chicken. It’s just – ” She sighed, looking at the – is that eagerness? – in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll write something for you.” Yeah right, she thought. In my next life. Like I’m EVER writing another word. Uh-uh. Nope, not me. She looked at David’s face, and saw a wide grin, like he had read her thoughts. “What?" she squeaked.

David just smiled. “You are so full of shit,” he said. “I can see your brain whirring behind those soft eyes of yours. Write something for me now, Ms. Storyteller,” he said. David was arguing with himself. Why couldn’t he just let it go? He no longer wanted her to feel badly, but he wanted very badly for her to do this. He was pathetic.

Jennifer shook her head. "I can't," she said looking around wildly. Her face already felt like it was aflame, and she couldn't believe she was even considering this.

David threw some bills on the table, heedless of what they were. “You’re right, this isn’t the place.” He stood and held his hand out for her to take. "Where should we go?"

She waged an inner battle of her own. Unbidden, a story was forming in her head about this man, and she knew she was going to have to get back to the hotel to get it out soon. The way this worked for her, the stories became all-consuming, and if she didn’t exercise them, didn’t get them down on paper or on-screen, they would drive her mad. Could she really just tell him what was running through her head? She thought about it for a long several minutes before she made up her mind.

Ignoring his proffered hand, Jennifer stood. "We could go for a walk down the beach," she said. "It's quiet, but still public."

David looked at her, surprised. "You’re afraid to be alone with me?" They strolled out of the restaurant and down the block; walking close to each other but not touching.

She shook her head and laughed nervously. "Not afraid, just..." She sighed. “This is too hard.”

"Why? I’ve read your stories," he said. He lowered his voice and leaned in to talk in her ear. His breath tickled her and kicked her heart rate up a notch. “They’re heady stuff. Shit, reading that stuff is like watching a porno movie.” He laughed sexily when her color drained. “Look, passion, lust, and great sex are nothing to be embarrassed about.” He grinned. “Though you did pick the wrong guys to write about. I’m the passionate one.” He saw a hint of a smile play around Jennifer’s mouth. “I’m sorry I tried to make you feel badly,” he said softly.

Jennifer blushed and fidgeted with her purse strap so her hands would have something to do. Letting out an un-ladylike snort, she said, "You know, this was all supposed to be anonymous, harmless fun," she said quietly. "That was the intention. I swear I never even entertained the idea that you, any of you, would see any of it. I was quite happy living in a state of blissful denial." She sighed. "Now it it’s not going to be fun anymore, KNOWING who some of the audience is." She shook her head. “Nope, I think this is it for Hath.”

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport,” he said. “I’ll tell you something. The guys? Well, we all get a kick out of it. Some of the stuff that’s out there,” he shook his head, “well it’s just mean-spirited or just plain nasty! I mean there’s no way I would EVER fuck Sambora, I don’t care HOW drunk I was.”

Jennifer laughed loud and hard at that. She put a hand on David’s arm, and felt a little sizzle where her skin met his. “Oh my God,” she said. “You didn’t actually read any of that slash stuff? Jesus, you’re crazy. WE can’t even read that stuff, and...” She clapped her hands over her mouth to shut herself up.

“And what?” David prompted.

“And nothing,” Jennifer insisted. David just stared at her. Jennifer rolled her eyes, “Well, let’s just say that we ladies often joke that there’s nothing we wouldn’t want to see you guys do,” her face was flaming again, “but there’s always an unwritten phrase there at the end of that thought: ‘except each other’. Two hot men together like that just does not sit well with us women – well my friends at least; some do like it.” shut up, shut up, SHUT UP her inner voice shouted at her.

David laughed. “Anyway,” he said, leveling a gaze at her that went straight to her core, “the stuff we found on your site and the links to the other stories there? Well, they’re all just wow.” He wagged his eyebrows at her and dramatically wiped fake sweat off his forehead. “Some of the guys admit to having their girls read some of it to them, and we all read this stuff when we’re um, lonely. You’re bookmarked on our computers, baby.”

“Yeah, well,” Jennifer started, but shook her head. “I have no idea what to say to that,” she said, though the thought of those men stroking themselves to her words made her panties dampen.

“At a loss for words, Ms. Storyteller?” he smiled and winked at her.

“For the moment, Mr. Rock Star,” she winked back, and shoulder-checked him. God, was she flirting with him? She was mortified: what the hell was her deal? She could feel her ‘alter ego’ starting to take over. That must be it. All this talk about the stories, and hot men and them getting hot and bothered by her words, well, it was getting to her.

David could see a change coming over the woman beside him. She went from embarrassed to confident; her grimace of discomfort transforming into a sexy, knowing smile. Whoa he thought, intrigued as hell. “You okay there, Jennifer?” he asked.

“Hath,” she corrected. “If I’m going to do this for you, it’s going to be as my alter-ego. ‘Jennifer’ doesn’t have the balls to pull this off. ‘Hath’ is the ballsiest bitch you’ve ever seen. Fuck you if you think that’s weird. You asked for it.”

David burst out laughing, and held out his hand again, knowing instinctively that Hath would take it. “C’mon, Hath, let’s get hit the beach.” She took his hand boldly and without hesitation followed him off the sidewalk and into the soft sand. They angled down toward the water, and Jennifer stopped to take her shoes off, loving the feel of the sand on her stocking-clad feet.

Smiling wickedly, she said, “Turn your back.”

“Why?” David asked.

“Just do it,” she commanded, and he did.

Jennifer dropped her shoes into her purse and after looking around furtively, huddled behind David and raised her skirt just enough to unhook the stockings from their clips. She rolled them down and off her legs, and stowed them in her purse. That was much better – now she could feel the velvety-soft sand between her toes. She released her hair from its clips, and stowed those in her bag as well. She flung the bag over her shoulder again, and started walking down the beach with long, purposeful strides; her arms crossed over her chest, and her long hair blowing in the wind. “OK, you can turn around now,” she called over her shoulder.

David turned and saw her walking away. He noticed her bare legs, and sucked in a breath. He followed their length with his eyes, and continued up her body, seeing a mane of glorious hair being whipped back by the ocean breeze. The woman walking away from him exuded confidence and sex, and if this was Jennifer’s alter-ego, well hell, he liked Hath a whole lot. He chuckled and jogged the few yards that separated them to walk by her side. “So,” he said, “how does this work?”

Jennifer/Hath turned to David. She flicked her eyes over the length of him, and smiled a sinful smile that had David instantly alert and aware of her as a sexual creature.

“First,” she said softly, “the woman starts with her hands.” She held her hands up in front of her face, twisting and turning them idly. “Hands rather like these,” she said. “Long, slender fingers, but powerfully strong. Hands with skin so soft it makes you weep. Hands that hold the scent of fresh strawberries from her body lotion. Hands that will bring intense pleasure to you if given half a chance.” She slowly rubbed her hands together, and David couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way they were moving over each other. He could swear he feel and smell them just like she described. He was in trouble.

“Really?” he choked.

“Don’t interrupt,” Jennifer/Hath said sharply. “Her hands; they're lightly coated with flavored oil. She chose a light, almost neutral flavor so as not to detract from the naturally heady taste of her man’s arousal, but damn, she wants her hands to slide easily over him.” From the corner of her eye, Jennifer/Hath could see David’s eyes squint, and could hear his breathing get a bit raspier. Emboldened, she continued.

“The woman turns from her vanity to see him standing before her, gloriously naked, his cock standing proudly at attention. She approaches him slowly; dropping her silk robe off her shoulders, allowing it to pool at her feet. The roll of her hips as she approaches him is mesmerizing, and he cannot tear his gaze away. Kneeling before him, she takes his hard length between her hands and gently rubs the oil in, making sure to run her hands over every magnificent inch of him, from root to tip. She gives him a slight squeeze to make sure she has his full attention, then strokes oh so slowly, so she can feel every ridge and knob...”

FOUR

“Jesus Christ,” David said, as they continued walking up the beach. He could practically feel a woman’s hands on him. Oh, who was he kidding? He pictured Jennifer’s, or Hath’s he guessed he should say, hands on him. He cursed his choice of denim this morning. She had barely started her tale, and he was already getting hard.

“We haven’t even come to the good bits yet, darlin’,” she said to him seductively, fully ‘Hath’ now. Smiling, she continued her story, her voice lowering. David had to walk closer to her to hear what she was saying. “Once he's good and oiled up, it's time for her to taste her handiwork. She'll rise slowly and take his hand, leading him to his most comfortable chair. Gently, she will push him into it, and arrange his arms carefully on those of the chair. Gracefully, she'll sink to her knees in front of him and purr as she takes as much as she can into her mouth.”

David stumbled and Hath smiled before continuing. “The taste of his skin mixed with that of the oil is heady and raw, and has her wet in an instant. She won't give in to her baser instincts and rub away the ache, however; this is all for him. With a deep breath, she slowly edges forward until he is fully engulfed by her hot mouth, relaxing her throat to take him all in. Then with a purr and a swallow, she sets to work.”

“Where is this coming from?” David asked her softly.

She shrugged. “It just comes. Just wait, the hero in my story does too.” She chuckled sexily, and David’s pants got uncomfortably tight. Why was it that he could picture her on the floor in front of him, doing these things to him? Damn. He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers. Hath’s faraway look told him she didn’t even notice.

“She sets a steady motion,” Hath said, “not too fast, not too slow. The suction of her mouth is heaven, and he groans throatily in appreciation. Her tongue plays over his length as she bobs her head up and down between his splayed legs. Each time she reaches the tip, she ever so lightly grazes her teeth across it making him hiss, and dips her tongue into the slit, hoping for a bead of moisture.”

David’s grip on Jennifer’s hand was tightening, and she smiled a purely feminine smile. “Again and again she descends; slowly, inch by inch, until he is fully engulfed once again. A clever hand traces lightly up his leg, tickling the coarse hairs. A little tickle in that spot just under his balls sets him moaning. He's been so good up until now, trying to be quiet and still, but this is pure torture. A long, low moan escapes his slightly parted lips as his head falls back onto the soft padding of the chair.”

She slanted her eyes at David, and saw he was staring straight ahead, his expression stoic but the little pulse point under his ear was throbbing to beat the band. She bet other things were as well. “She draws back until he bobs free so she can shush him, then sends little kisses down his length, until she can lave at his sac. She savors the musk-mixed-with-sweat scent, burning it into her memory forever. While she licks and laps, her hand sneaks up to encircle the engorged rod, and her hands are SO strong.”

She squeezed David’s hand slightly, and a hiss escaped his lips. She smiled. Who was making whom uncomfortable now? It was a powerful feeling, and she was reveling in it. “He reaches for her long, thick hair, but she bats his hands away. She is going to set her own pace, she will not be rushed. She pushes his thighs further apart so she can kneel closer, and take his dick, which is now swollen beyond belief, and slide it between her breasts. She watches his face as he watches himself appear and disappear between those globes. As his tip reveals itself, she stretches her tongue to lick at it. Her hands slowly creep up to pinch and pull at her nipples, and her head falls back in pleasure imagining his hands on her body.”

Hath was in the groove now, and was starting to get really turned on. The cool air blowing off the water was helping, but not much. She had to wrap this up before she really embarrassed herself and came on the spot.

“His hands are clenched so tightly on the arms of the chair that she can see them shaking. Taking pity on him, she lets him drop from her flesh and attacks anew, sucking furiously on him. His legs start to tense and his abs clench. She is humming happily now, knowing what is to come.” The timber of her voice hasn’t changed, but she is talking slightly faster, and David is spellbound. “She squeezes the base of his cock hard, and sucks for all she's worth. He explodes with a curse on his lips and sweat pours down his face as she takes every last bit of cum he has to offer.” David’s quick intake of breath was the reward Hath was looking for. “With gentle kisses and licks, she brings him back down to earth. His eyes are slumberous, their half-lidded beauty just breathtaking. The woman sits back on her heels and saucily wipes at her bottom lip, rubbing the moisture collected there between her legs.” Hath trailed off with a sigh as the images played in her head.

“Is that good enough for you?” she asked David.

He swallowed hard. “Jesus,” David said. They walked for a few minutes in silence before he added, “Are you going to put that on your site?”

“Sure as shit am, darlin’,” Jennifer/Hath said, smirking at him. “That’s good stuff right there.” She looked him over, seeing the effect her words had on him. “I see you think so, too.” She started to get embarrassed again, as ‘Hath’ slowly sunk back into her psyche, and ‘Jennifer’ came back in control.

David smiled. “Will you make sure the guys know it’s about me?”

Jennifer blushed, “Sure I can write about how you lured me here under false pretenses and goaded me into it.” She winked at him.

“Really?”

Jennifer laughed. “Sure. It all sounds like fiction, it’ll fit right in.”

THE END

Attitude

2008-03-20T20:27:00.002-04:00

~ by Hath, December 31, 2007

The tension had been palpable. If it wasn’t so bad, it would have been comical. Ross was loading film and checking the light and I was going over for the thousandth time what I wanted to ask these guys. I’d always been a fan, though as a journalist, it’s hard to have favorites in this business – at least it’s a career-limiting move to let that show. But, these guys were the real deal, and I was pumped to talk to them again. At least, they were the real deal in the last decade. They could be that again, if they wanted it.

In fact, that was my first planned question.

It was beautiful and simple.

“How badly do you want to be big again?”

I figured it would draw them out, get them animated, and would set the stage for a fantastic interview. But where the fuck were these guys?

“Lonn, are they coming or not?” Ross asked.

I checked my watch. “They said they would, but dammit, I don’t have all day.” As I was finishing my bitching, the double doors opened, and in they stalked, side by side. One dark one light, hostility oozing from every pore.

They strode across the room and took up positions on opposite sides of the conference table. They swiveled their chairs away so they wouldn’t have to look at each other. Jesus, this was going to be a problem. I caught Ross’ eye, and he shrugged, and started snapping pictures. Some help he was gonna be. I cleared my throat.

“So, guys, thanks for meeting with us,” I started. I knew what my first question to them was supposed to be, but it flew out the window at the looks on these guys’ faces. Sambora looked like he wanted to kill someone, namely his supposed best friend. Bongiovi looked like the feeling was completely mutual. Shit. How was I going to get them into the car to get across town to the shoot after the interview? They didn’t even want to be in the same room together – and this is a frigging big room.

I sighed. “Look, is doing this going to be a problem? RIP can get Slayer or Winger or someone else for the cover.” I wanted to know now if I was wasting my time or not, and wanted these guys to know that just because they were part of “Bon Jovi” didn’t mean they could jerk me around.

Sambora lowered his ebony-hued shades to glare at me, then gave his buddy a pointed look, slid his shades back up and crossed his arms over his chest. He was so tense, his forearms were flexed. The cords stood out on his neck, and I thought for sure I could see steam coming from his ears, just like in the cartoons.

Bongiovi, cool as ever, lowered his amber-tinted shades and smiled that megawatt smile at me – a smile that didn’t come close to touching those remarkable eyes. “Lonn, buddy, of course there isn’t a problem. What do you want to know?”

What I want to know is the real story of what the hell is going on in this room right now. But, I have the distinct feeling they wouldn’t tell me if I asked, and I was just bullshitting about getting Slayer. Who the fuck wants to read about them? I couldn’t risk angering them and making them walk. All through the interview, either one or the other would answer direct questions if asked, but they wouldn’t talk to each other, and wouldn’t even meet each others’ eyes.

Finally, the agony of this interview was done. The pictures that Ross snapped wouldn’t be any good. They weren’t even in the same goddamned frame. Nobody wants pictures of these guys solo. They want to see the team together. Jesus, I hope they can pull it together for the formal photo shoot.

Just what the fuck is going on here?

* * * * *

It was the last night in Japan, and the guys were all on a contact high from the adrenaline and love pouring out from the audience. They loved their jobs, and love performing in the States, but nothing was quite as satisfying as performing for the Japanese. After the final bows, the guys were all back in the dressing room, toasting their successes, when Jon made an announcement. “When we get back to the States,” he said, “I think we need a break.”

Jon’s proclamation was met with stunned silence. None of the others saw this coming. Richie spoke up first. “What do you mean ‘a break’ bro? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, and that’s the problem. This shit isn’t working. I think we each need some time to ourselves to regroup and think about where we want this to go.”

“Are you fuck insane?” Alec asked. “We’ve got the world by the balls, and you want to let it go?” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way.”

David agreed. “I’ve gotta say, man, this is fuck up. Why stop now? We’re nearly invincible, man.”

“I don’t remember asking either of you for your opinions,” Jon said. “In case you’ve forgotten, the band is ‘Bon Jovi’. That’s me. I’m in charge here, and I say we’re done, at least for a while.”

Richie shook his head. “Man, I can’t believe what an arrogant prick you’re being.” Jon narrowed his eyes at his friend, but Sambora was undeterred. “I mean, shit, we’re in this together. At the very least, I’m in this with you.”

Jon just ground his teeth and shook his head. “No, man, we’re not.”

Richie threw up his hands. “fuck it all, if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be playing in shitty bars and clubs, and if you got that asshole Sabo instead of me, you’d all be cokeheads or dead by now.” He got up in Jon’s face. “You may be the name and the voice, but you aren’t the band. We are. And you don’t call the shots here by yourself, WE do, you sanctimonious asshole.”

Jon cocked his fist, and Tico jumped forward to restrain him. “Don’t, amigo,” he said, his deep baritone a threat in Jon’s ear.

Jon shot daggers at his right-hand man. “You’ve got balls, Sambora, I’ll give you that,” he said, shaking off Tico’s hand. “But don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” He poked a finger into Richie’s chest. “We could do just fine with another guitarist. Nobody is irreplaceable around here. Except me. Without me, there is no Bon Jovi.”

“Your opinion of yourself is just staggering,” Richie said, turning his back on Jon and the others. “Fine, you want to be done, I’m done.” He stalked toward the door. “Call me when you pull your head out of your ass and want to be successful.” He turned back and pointed at Jon. “Better yet, don’t. Newsflash, asshole: I don’t need you, either. fuck you, man.”

With that, he left.

* * * * *

We drove in silence to the industrial park where we were going to do the photo shoot. Ross and I tried to engage these guys in small talk, but they wanted nothing of it. Each stared out his respective window, saying nothing. When we pulled up, and Ross started setting up, the two of them got out of the car and stood there, waiting to be told what to do. Sambora had his Strat and the trademark Stetson, and he was ready. Bongiovi had the hair and the attitude; he appeared ready, too.

Ross had them posed in different places, and every time they got near each other, I held my breath. But, the two men handled things professionally, although not personably, and they got through the shoot with very little fuss. In fact, without these two clowning around as they usually do, we got done earlier. They already had the angry rock star thing happening, so Ross got some fantastic shots. Although, in hindsight, if you look at the cover picture carefully, you can see Jon leaning toward Richie, making the wingman lean back to avoid touching his friend. Any other day, they’d be back to back with shit-eating grins on their faces.

They’re acting like adversaries rather than partners. Are they through? It’s not what they said in the interview, but who knows. I for one hope not. I think they have a lot of stories yet to tell.

As they were leaving, I threw my initial “first thought” question out to them. Maybe it will help, maybe not. At least it’ll give them something to think about.

* * * * *

After the shoot, Jon and Richie were in the limo heading back to the hotel. Lonn and Ross were hanging back; the car would return for them eventually. Both men had sunglasses on, their expressions inscrutable. Each was looking out his respective window again, lost in his own thoughts. Jon was thinking about Lonn’s parting comments to them – and thought about what his answer was. He looked over at Richie, a man who’d been his friend for a long time and sighed.

Richie tore his gaze away from the window to look at his travel companion. “What?” he said. It was the first word he’d said to Jon in the last two hours. His voice was weary, as if he was afraid that by starting a conversation, they would drive a bigger wedge into the heart of their friendship.

“Just thinking about what Lonn said,” Jon said, pulling the sunglasses from his eyes. His eyes twinkled a little, Richie thought, or maybe it was unshed tears. Richie knew how that felt.

“Huh,” Richie said, and turned back to the window.

“Man, about Japan,” Jon said. “I said some shit I didn’t really mean, and well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Richie looked back at his friend, and saw honest remorse there in his face. He sighed, and yanked his own sunglasses from his face. He studied Jon’s face for a long time. When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Richie opened his door, and made to get out. At the last minute, he ducked his head back in and extended his hand.

He said to Jon, “Call me when you get your shit together.”

Jon clasped his friend’s hand and answered, “You got it.”

** Author's Note: This was an entry in a writing challenge over on T's Place.

Lie to Me

2008-03-20T20:24:00.003-04:00

~ by Hath, February 4, 2008

Jon thought he was going to cry, and he hadn’t done that for years.

They were so in love, but things were just so hard. He was too proud to accept help from his family and friends, but maybe he should. He had been robbed blind by people he trusted, and to her credit, Charlene had stood by him. His stubbornness had them living not exactly in poverty, but not really comfortably. He’d be damned if he’d go begging for help from Richie or the others. He felt that he got himself into this mess he had to get out of it on his own.

He had thought that starting over would be easy. He and the guys could just write another record, and they’d be on their way again. There was one problem with that. He couldn’t write anymore; couldn’t find the inspiration that used to follow him around like his shadow. He’d convinced the guys that he could do it, that he could get his shit together, but he needed a little time. They were all understanding, but made sure Jon understood that they weren’t just going to wait around for him.

He knew Charlie felt the strain, too. Jon looked through the doorway to the kitchen where she was standing, staring out the window. She had been sneaking around him lately, and he just knew that she was getting ready to leave him. He didn’t want to believe it but he’d been in town earlier and overheard people talking. She was leaving him; he was just the last one to know about it.

Charlie sighed. Jon was so pig-headed; he wouldn’t admit he needed help. She had been trying to find work, but this small town in New Jersey didn’t really have a need for a large animal vet. She applied at some local animal hospitals too, but it wasn’t looking good. She tried everything she could think of to help him snap out of this funk he’s been in for the last six months, but nothing had worked. Her failures were killing her. She had been in love with Jon since way back when he was ‘John’, and it took them a good long while to find each other again after high school. When they did though, the connection was instant and powerful. That she couldn’t use that connection to help him made her feel sad all the way to her soul.

She was there by his side all through the high times, and Charlie was determined to stand by him in the low. She wouldn’t leave him just because things took a turn for the worse. He was still the same man in there, under all that pain and anger – still the man she loved more than her own life. Charlie just didn’t know how to help him. Well, she had thought of one thing more to try, but she knew Jon wasn’t going to like it. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Jon looking at her. She offered a wan smile, and he looked away. Grabbing her phone from the counter, she slipped outside to once again call her father.

A few days later, Jon was in town for yet another meeting with his lawyers. They had been working with Jon to try to recoup some of what was taken from him, but the money had left the country months ago, and the paper trail was leading nowhere. After a discouraging session with the attorneys, Jon found himself in a coffee shop; the same one he and Charlie had frequented since they hooked up all those long years ago.

Talk at the counter stopped when he entered the shop. Everyone turned to look at him, and the pity in their eyes made him grit his teeth. Head held high, he strode to the counter and sat down, ordering his coffee to go. The waitress offered him a sad smile and said, “Good luck.”

“What do you mean,” Jon said, his eyes narrowing.

The waitress shook her head. “Just that I hear Big Mike is coming into town today.” She placed a gentle hand on his sleeve and said again, “Good luck.” Stunned, Jon left the shop without his coffee, and headed home.

When Jon got there, he found Charlie sitting in the kitchen. “Baby, what’s this I hear about your father coming in to town? What’s going on?”

Charlie looked uncomfortable. “He’s coming because I asked him to.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I asked him for help.”

“Are you shitting me? Why?”

“Look around us,” Charlie said. “We deserve better than this. We need help while we sort out the mess THOSE people put us in. Is that so bad? Is this really as good as you think life can get now?”

Jon scrubbed at his face. “I know that I told you that I could make your dreams – our dreams – a reality. I can still do that; I just need some time to get through this. You need to give me more time.” He sighed. “I’m not proud of this,” he said. “This is just as hard for me as it is for you.”

“I know, baby, but you’re not letting me help you.” She strode, frustrated, around the room. When she turned back to Jon, there were tears in her eyes. “It is so hard seeing you like this – you’re losing yourself, I can see it.” She crossed to him, and gently caressed his cheek.

Jon covered Charlie’s hand with his. “I need you to be strong for me,” he said, hating that he had to lean on her. “Don’t let me lose myself. I can’t lose you. You’re the one thing I know I can believe in. No matter what happens, if I can fix this, or even if I can’t, I need you.”

“Jon, I need you too, and I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned in to kiss him. “Jon, I don’t want to cry any more,” she said, sobbing. “I die a little bit each day that I can’t help you. I don’t want to die anymore, either.” She kissed him again, but pulled back as the doorbell rang

“Big Mike,” Jon muttered under his breath, and left out the back door.

Charlie let her father, cardiac specialist Dr. Michael “Big Mike” Scarpacci, into the house. After giving his daughter a hug, he leaned in to talk in a low voice. “You know you can always come home,” he said.

She just looked at him. “No. No one said that it’d be easy. I’m sticking by him. That’s not what I meant when I asked you for help.”

“I know,” Michael said, sighing. “Where is he?” Jon had circled around the small cottage, and had heard the exchange between Charlie and her father.

“He’s getting some air.” Charlene pushed a hand through her hair. “Can you help us or not?”

Michael nodded. “It’s done. This place is yours, free and clear.” He hugged his youngest daughter. “Now, please, you two need to get off this roller-coaster ride. These manic ups and downs are not healthy for either of you. You need stability, and you can’t have that if he’s not working. His work is his life. You have to help him.”

“I’m trying, Daddy. With everything I am and everything I have, I’m trying.”

Jon’s eyes filled with tears, listening to this exchange. When Big Mike left, Jon came back into the house, and took Charlene, his wife of five years, into his arms. “I love you,” he said. “Can you still love me, even after all this?”

By way of answer, Charlene kissed him tenderly, and led him to the bedroom.

Later, as Jon looked over at the smile on Charlie’s sleeping face, he felt something stir that he hadn’t felt for some time. His sub-conscious was poking at him. He could hear a soulful and sad melody playing in his head. He could almost hear the words.

Soundlessly, he slipped from their bed, and from their room. Grabbing his acoustic from the closet he had banished it to, hating its mocking silence, he sat in the living room and started to play.

A few minutes later, he started to sing…

Lie To Me

Rumor has it that your daddy's coming down, he's gonna pay the rent
Tell me baby, is this as good as life is gonna get
It feels like there's a stronger standing in these shoes
But, I know I can't lose me, 'cause then I'd be losing you

I know I promised baby I would be the one to make our dreams come true
I ain't too proud of all the struggles and the hard times we've been through
When this cold world comes between us, please tell me you'll be brave
'Cause I can realize the danger when forgiveness fades away

If you don't love me - lie to me
'Cause baby you're the one thing I believe
Let it all fall down around us, if
that's what's meant to be
Right now if you don't love me baby - lie to me

Pour another cup of coffee Babe, I got something to say to you
I ain't got the winning ticket – not the one that's gonna pull us through
No one said that it'd be easy. Let your old man take you home
But know that if you walk out on me then darling I’ll be gone

If you don't love me - lie to me
'Cause baby you're the one thing I believe
Let it all fall down around us, if that's what's meant to be
Right now if you can't love me baby - lie to me
Baby, I can take it

It's a bitch, but life's a roller coaster ride
The ups and downs will make you scream sometimes
It's hard believing that the thrill is gone
But we got to go around again, so let's hold on

If you don't love me - lie to me
'Cause baby you're the one thing I believe
Let it all fall down around us, if that's what's meant to be
Right now if you can't love me baby - lie to me
Lie to me
Baby, I can take it
C'mon lie to me

** Author's Note: This was an entry in a writing challenge over on T's Place.

Road Trip!

2008-03-20T20:19:00.003-04:00

~ by Hath, March 20, 2008

At 25, he felt he had the world by the short and curlies. At 30, he was invincible. Now at 40, he just felt old. He knew he didn’t look it. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew he looked damned good. He stopped himself before he added “for his age” to the end of that thought. He looked good period. He still sounded good, had the energy and stamina of a man half his age, had good friends, a loving wife – why then this sudden melancholy?

Richie had seen his friend moping around for days. He thought it was because of the record they were working on now. They hadn’t decided what they were going to call it, but it was turning out to be a moody album. The first songs they did, “Undivided” and “Everyday”, were about the terrorist attacks just six months earlier. The country was still in mourning, and the men in the band were too, and it poured out into these songs. The lyrics were hopeful and strong, but the music and the subject matter were hard and dark. It got to all of them.

There were other songs, ballads and such, but overall, the record seemed to have a tragic feel to it, and Jon felt things so intensely, especially when he was writing, Richie had just chalked it up to all of that. Then from the corner of his eye, he spotted a calendar. “Shit,” Richie said, suddenly understanding what was really going on with his best friend. He called the others and asked them to meet Richie at his house later. They all agreed, though were puzzled as to why.

Over beer and Chinese, Richie talked to the others. “Guys, Jon’s been a surly bear for days, and I think I figured out what his problem is.”

“He’s an asshole?” David asked, raising an eyebrow.

Richie laughed. “Aside from that,” he said. “His birthday is next week.”

“So?” Tico asked. None of them ever made a big deal about the others’ birthdays, unless they were touring. Then they could usually persuade the audience to sing THAT song to whosever birthday it was.

Hugh got it, though. “So, bossman hits 40, right? He’s feeling old,” he said, nodding. He had turned 40 some time ago himself, and vaguely remembered feeling similarly. Turning 50 wasn’t as traumatic.

Tico’s eyebrows shot up. “HE feels old? Jesus, he’s still a f#cking baby.”

“I know, Teek,” Hugh agreed, “but these kids, they are SO dramatic these days.”

“Do you grandpas feel old?” David asked them.

“Not so old that I can’t still kick the shit out of you, amigo,” Tico retorted without heat.

“Focus, people,” Richie said, smiling. “So, how do we make him feel better? He’s starting to piss me off, being all mopey and quiet. Well,” he corrected with a chuckle. “The quiet doesn’t so much bother me, but the brooding tragic character thing is getting old.”

They were all quiet for a few minutes, then Hugh spoke up. “I didn’t know him when he was younger. What did he like to do?”

The guys all looked at each other and laughed. “What do you think a twenty-something rock star in the 80’s liked to do?”

Hugh nodded and smiled. “Gotcha. Emmie would never go for that,” he said, referring to Jon’s wife. “Well, say ten years ago. What would he do then for fun? He wasn’t still drinking and doing the groupie thing in the early 90’s, was he?”

“Naw,” David said. “By then, Emmie had taken his balls for her own; he was done with that. All he talked about, besides that woman, that is, was,” David cleared his throat and made air quotes as he said, “The Bike Trip.”

“Aaah, ‘The Bike Trip’,” Richie and Tico echoed, miming David’s quotes. Seeing Hugh’s confusion, Richie elaborated. “Jon always had this big idea that the band should just take off on motorcycles for a month and tour the countryside. Not playing or anything, just actually touring the country. He always bitches about how we always hit the big cities, but the small towns are where the real stories are.”

“Didn’t he do that once already?” Hugh asked.

“Yeah, but that was him on his own,” Richie said. “He wanted to do this together, as a ‘growing and bonding’ thing for us.” There was an awkward silence as the men all realized that at the time when Jon was talking about this, it was Alec, not Hugh, who would have been included.

“Well, why don’t we do it?” Hugh said. “Look, you’re just about wrapped with the writing of this album; if we take a month off, that still leaves plenty of time to get it polished for a fall release.”

The guys just stared at Hugh. He wasn’t usually this forthcoming with his opinions and advice. He was the quiet one who went along with whatever the majority of them wanted to do.

David nodded. “Hughie’s right. We just have to convince our wives that it’s a good idea.” The women were looking forward to having some uninterrupted time with their men. They had toured through most of 2001, then locked themselves in the studios for months, now were going to leave on a trip? They weren’t sure if the girls would go for that.

Richie smiled. “Aw, Jen will be OK with that,” he said, referring to his own wife. “She has a soft spot for brooding men, and if she knows we’re doing it for Jon, she’ll even pack for me. We should check with Emmie, though. I don’t think she’ll have an issue, but you never know.” He took out his phone, hit a button, and had a quiet conversation with Jon’s wife. The others hit their own buttons on their own phones, and soon smiles spread across the room.

Road Trip!

The guys all went their separate ways, satisfied they had a way to get Jon smiling again. They’d leave on Jon’s birthday and be home for Easter. This was going to be fun.

Days later, Jon was stomping around the bedroom, slamming open closet doors only to slam them shut again when he couldn’t find what he wanted. “Mare!” he shouted. “Where are my black boots?”

“What the hell do you need those for?” Mary Elizabeth (‘M.E.’ to the guys, and ‘Mare’ to Jon) yelled from the bathroom, though she had a good idea.

“Rich is coming over, wants to tool around on the bikes for a while, and I need my shit-kicker boots.” He strode to the bathroom door, and watched as his wife finished showering. “Although,” he said saucily, “you might be a much better ride.”

“Might?” she said, turning off the water and sliding open the glass shower door. “Just might?” She sniffed haughtily and turned her back on him. “No birthday boink for you tonight then.”

Jon laughed and swatted his wife on the ass. “I already got that this morning, baby,” he said.

Mary Elizabeth just laughed. “If THAT was enough for you,” she said, shrugging, “who am I to argue?”

Jon caught her around the waist and kissed her neck. “It’s never enough, you know that,” he said, smiling against her skin. He had just closed his hands around his wife’s breasts when a huge roaring noise from outside grabbed his attention.

“What the hell?” he asked, and with a final squeeze for his wife, went to the bedroom window to look. Mary Elizabeth quickly slipped her jeans and sweatshirt on, and snuck out of the bathroom.

From the bedroom, Jon could see a group of guys on bikes, tearing up and down the street. “Idiots,” he groused, and went back to the bathroom, only to find it empty.

“Mare?” he called.

“Down here!” she answered.

Puzzled, Jon went downstairs, and found his wife by the front door. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Just wait,” she said.

The roaring got louder, and Jon’s eyes went wide. A slow smile started to spread across his face. He opened the door, and watched his band-mates, all of them, roar up the driveway on motorcycles. Jon stepped out onto the porch, leaned against the post, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. When they had all backed their bikes up against the hedgerow and shut off the motors, Jon went down the steps.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” he asked, then burst out laughing when they took off their helmets. To a man, David, Richie, Tico, and Hugh were clad in blue jeans, white tees, black leather, and they all had ridiculous bandanas tied around their heads. David’s had birthday cakes on it, Richie’s had presents, Tico’s had confetti and streamers, and Hugh’s had candles. They looked stupid, and Jon loved them for it.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they all shouted in unison.

“Don’t remind me,” Jon grumbled, but he couldn’t stop the smile.

“C’mon, old man,” David said. “Get your gear.”

Jon looked at his friend, then to his wife, then back again. “What are you talking about?”

Mary Elizabeth disappeared into the house, and came back with Jon’s leather jacket and gloves, his bike’s “saddle bags”, the boots Jon couldn’t find earlier, and a bandana that said “Birthday Boy”.

“Here, baby,” she said, holding the jacket so he could slip it on. “Happy Birthday.”

Jon looked at Richie, who said, “You know how you always wanted to go on that road trip, just us guys?”

Jon nodded, and teared up.

“Well gear up, old man, and let’s go.”

** Author's Note: This was an entry in a writing challenge over on T's Place.

Homecoming

2008-03-07T11:59:00.003-05:00

~ by Hath, March 7, 2008

Richie was bone tired.

When he literally collapsed into the back of the waiting car, he thought he was going to pass out from the fatigue. It’d been long weeks since he’d been home. This leg of the tour was especially grueling, because they had changed the set around, and there was much more space for them to fill. He spent his nights running here and there, flirting with and winking and grinning at the nameless, faceless crowds of women who were winking and grinning and blowing kisses right back at him. It usually gave him a thrill, especially when he found someone looking up shyly at him that he could draw out with a wide smile or by tossing a pick at her.

The last few days, though? He was done. Not leave-the-brotherhood done, but done for now. They had a month off before heading back to Europe, and he was never so glad to say goodbye to his friends as he was tonight. He checked his watch and groaned. Belay that last. Last night.

Richie scrubbed his hands across his face and into his hair. Resting his head against the back of the seat of the plush Caddy, he closed his eyes. Just for a minute he thought, and dropped off to sleep.

Richie woke when the incline of the road changed. The gentle dip into his driveway was as familiar to him as his favorite guitar. He was home. Thanking the driver, he pulled his bags from the trunk and walked up the path to the front door. He let himself in, dropped his gear, and took a deep breath. He could smell the polish their cleaning service used on the entry-way table. Under that, he could smell her.

Her light, floral scent floated to him, and he inhaled deeply again. He had never smelled anything so good. Richie climbed the stairs wearily, wanting to spend the next two days in bed wrapped around his wife. The way he was feeling now, he didn’t even care if they slept or fucked; he just wanted to be with her in their bed.

Richie stepped into the bathroom, and showered quickly, washing the travel off of him. It helped a little with the tiredness, too. Towel slung around his waist, Richie brushed his teeth. With a big hand, he swiped some of the steam from the mirror, and leaned in to scrutinize his face. There were a few more lines and wrinkles than the last time he had an attack of introspection, but he figured he earned them. He was nearly fifty, for Christ’s sake, and living like he was thirty. Tonight he felt every one of those years.

He sighed and pushed open the bedroom door. When he took in the sight before him, his fatigue left him as surely as if he’d slept for a week. There she was. The woman whose scent had teased him downstairs. The woman who had warmed his bed for the last ten years. The woman he wanted to grow old and die with. The woman he wanted to wake up right now and make love to. Scratch that. He wanted to fuck her senseless.

She was cuddled with a body-length pillow on his side of the bed; something she did when he was on the road. He chuckled when he saw one end of the pillow stuffed into of his favorite t-shirts. Her cheek was resting on the t-shirt’s chest, and she had sprawled across it to grip the shoulder. He would bet if he pulled back the blankets, he’d find one slim leg bent at the hip and draped across the lower half of the pillow, the other flush alongside it – just the way she would sleep on him in a few hours.

The bedclothes had slipped from their customary position (tucked up under her chin) to reveal a creamy shoulder and long expanse of back. Jenna’s face, angelic in sleep, caught the faint moonlight streaming in through the skylight. Richie could see the faint crow’s feet at her eyes, earned by a lifetime of smiles, and longed to trace his finger over them. Her long auburn hair was loose and flowing out behind her, making her look like a fairy princess waiting for her knight in shining armor.

Jenna was one of those girls at a show that Richie had tried to win over with a smile. She had been with some friends in the fan pit, and he noticed her right away. The cropped fire-engine red tank top made her creamy white skin glow. It molded her full breasts, and ended a good two inches above her pierced navel. The tight blue jeans she wore rode low on her hips, and a silver chain circled her waist. It caught the light as she danced and sung along, and Richie was completely distracted.

Once she noticed him noticing her, she got all shy. She still sang and danced with her friends, but she wouldn’t really look at him; she’d just dart glances at him and look away. At first, he thought she was looking at Jon or David, but then he realized she was just not looking at him. When he tried to catch her eye, she’d blush and shift so he couldn’t. He kissed the pick he was using and flicked it at her, hitting her in the chest just above the scooped neck of her tank. His aim was impeccable; he’d done this a time or two over the years. She clutched at it before it could slide down her shirt, and her friends all grabbed at her hands, trying to get it from her. She stuffed into her front pocket, and waved shyly at him.

During the rest of the show, he smiled wide welcoming smiles at her, and appreciated her shy returned glances, sensing she wasn’t being a flirt, that she was genuinely shy. He laughed outright at her friends, who were very different. The girls she was with were all reaching for him and shouting dirty things. He couldn’t hear them, of course, but he could tell by the looks on their faces just what they were saying.

Richie chuckled at the memory of approaching her and her friends, while they were singing Born To Be My Baby. Funny how he remembered that.

In his haste to get closer to this quiet woman, to try to draw her out, he got a little too close and her friends had gotten a handful of him. She had been mortified at her friends’ boldness, and mouthed ‘sorry’ to him as he jumped back. Then she looked straight into his eyes, and smiled at him. She smiled and he was lost. For the rest of the show, he played more to her than anything else; so much so that Jon had called him on it during the break before the encore.

“Man, what are you doing?” Jon asked, as they stripped off their sweat-soaked shirts, toweled off, and pulled on new ones.

“What do you mean?” Richie finger-combed his hair while Jon got blown dry.

“You aren’t paying any attention to anyone but the fan pit,” he said irritably. Richie grinned sheepishly, and Jon caught it, and rolled his eyes. “Christ on a crutch, man, really?” They’d been friends for so long, that he didn’t have to wait for an answer. “Well, cut it out,” Jon said.

Before they went back on stage, Richie corralled one of the security staff, telling him to invite the woman in the red tank top with the shy smile to come backstage afterwards: her and her friends. The staffer did as he was bid, and as the women left the stage, they were pulled aside and brought backstage. Richie had come from his shower to find the girls looking around wildly, touching everything. He stood in the doorway for a full minute before saying, “Well hello there,” and making them all jump.

One of the Bold Bunch, as he’d come to call them later, strode right up to him. “What do you want with Jenna?” she demanded, eyes flashing indignantly. It wasn’t jealousy; he was very familiar with THAT look. This looked more like a mama bear protecting her cub.

“Darlin’, I just wanted to meet her,” he said, winking. “The rest is up to her.”

Jenna’s friend backed off, eyeing him suspiciously. “Alright. I’m Sandy, over there is Aimee and Paula, and you’ve seen Jenna,” she said. “Sorry, but we feel responsible for her,” she started.

“And while I appreciate that,” the woman in question cut in, “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much.” She walked up to Richie, and he was taken by her beauty. She held out a hand and he took it delicately. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “You were really very good.”

Richie laughed. “Why do you sound so surprised?” He hadn’t let go of her hand yet, and was hoping she wouldn’t try too hard to get it back.

Jenna chuckled and blushed, and had to tug on her hand a little to retrieve it. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not really a fan,” she said quietly.

Richie gasped dramatically and clutched at his heart. “Say it isn’t true!” He laughed at her reaction. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” he said. “As long as you enjoyed yourself tonight, that’s all that matters.”

“I did thanks -- quite a bit actually.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I actually knew more songs than I thought I did,” she said, then grinned again – the same smile she gave him on the stage. “Guess I’m a bigger fan than I thought.”

“Why do you need protection from me?” he asked, looking at her friends who had all gathered behind her, and looked ready to snatch her away if he got too close.

“I don’t,” she said, giving her friends a pointed stare. “They just think I do because…” she stopped, and colored again.

“Because?” Richie prompted.

“Because you’re big and could hurt her if you smacked her around,” the blonde, Aimee, finished.

Aaah, that explained their protectiveness. Jenna must have been hurt before. “Now, why would I want to do that?” Richie asked. He was always amazed that people had pre-conceived notions of how rock stars live and act, and there wasn’t much you could do about it. It got annoying at times, like now for instance, but he’d learned there wasn’t anything you could do except to try to dissuade people of those notions.

“Why would any man batter a woman?” the redhead, Paula answered. “Because he can.”

“Well I wouldn’t,” he said, putting his hands up, “though I don’t expect you to take my word for it.” He opened the door to his dressing room and called out “Gerry!”

A tall, middle-aged man with a wiry frame came to the door. “What?” He clearly wasn’t impressed by Richie, which made the girls smile.

“Have I ever laid a hand on a woman in anything other than love or lust?”

Gerry burst out laughing. “Jesus, man, your mother would skin you alive if you ever even THOUGHT about doing that.” He got himself under control. “Ladies, I’ve been with the band since they were arrogant punks playing clubs that are long gone now. He’s never raised his hand to anyone but his brothers out there in anger.” He smiled. “And they usually just laugh at him. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He looked at Richie. “Can I go now? Jon’s squawking for me.”

Richie waved him away and looked at the girls. “Satisfied?”

Jenna nodded and looked at her friends, then stepped closer to him. She held out her hand again. “Jenna-Marie Elizabeth Jacobsen,” she said. “Wanna get a drink?”

The rest, as they say, was history.

Now, ten years later, standing in their bedroom, he was growing hard just at the sight of her. Jenna-Marie Elizabeth Jacobsen Sambora: quite a mouthful for such a small woman. She still had the navel piercing, though the belly chain went the way of the dodo long ago. And she still was shy around strangers, but never with him. It took her a while to warm up to the guys, and she’d actually bonded with Hugh faster than the others, but that was all water under the bridge now.

Richie slowly crept to the bed, dropping the towel into the hamper along the way. Little by little, he raised the edge of the covers so he could see her. He didn’t want to wake her, not yet. Jenna sighed at the cool air touching her bed-warmed, naked flesh, and stirred, but didn’t wake up. He was right; her leg was up over the pillow, giving him an enticing view of her tender, pink lips. He slid in alongside her and snuggled up close; his cock slid over her leg and pushed under the pillow she clutched. He swept her hair up to the top of her head, and pressed delicate kisses along her neck.

He knew the instant she woke up; he could hear the change in her breathing. “Hey baby,” he said to her, as he bit at her earlobe.

“Mmmm, hey yourself,” Jenna answered. “What time is it?”

“It’s late.” He chuckled. “Or early, depending on how you wanna look at it.” He punctuated his phrases with little licks and nibbles that had Jenna squirming against him.

“I missed you,” she said, angling her head so Richie could kiss the sensitive spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I missed you, too.” Richie said, kissing her mouth when Jenna turned her head to look at him. “Let me show you how much,” he said.

Jenna sighed and lay her head back down as Richie’s fingers traced a light path down her spine for long minutes, making her shiver. When they traced the cleft of her ass, she sucked in a breath. When his fingers continued their journey to find her warm, wet core, she moaned. Gently, idly, Richie rubbed at her clit, barely grazing the hard little nub. Over and over, he would bring Jenna to the brink of oblivion only to stop and kiss her back or her cheek or to stroke her hip with a gentle hand. When she would relax and slump back against the pillow, he would start his teasing again, making her tense up and groan, and if she tried to move, to quicken or harden Richie’s touch, he would stop and kiss and stroke her back again.

Jenna could feel the tingling start deep in her core, and her body tensed just-so, and Richie could tell it wouldn’t be long now before she was screaming his name. He finally pressed into her. One finger, then a second slowly pushed their way past her too-tight muscles. “Aw, baby,” Richie said, kissing her back, “we need to get you loosened up.”

“Give it your best shot, rock star,” Jenna answered, chuckling.

Richie took that for the challenge it was meant to be, and quickly finished sliding his fingers home. Jenna let out a startled “oh!” then purred. Richie stroked his fingers slowly in and out of her, feeling her squeeze him as she got all worked up. He withdrew then, and ever so lightly stroked her clit. Jenna moaned, and her hips started undulating, begging for him to stroke her faster. Richie stopped altogether, and levered up on one arm to shove the pillow away. He gently turned Jenna onto her stomach, urged her up on to her knees, and spread them wide apart so her back was arched. Jenna’s head was still pillowed on her arms, and she looked at Richie with eyes glazed over with lust.

Richie rested his head on the small of her back, and set to filling her again, this time with three fingers. Jenna rocked back and forth on his hand, trying to deepen the penetration. “More,” she begged. Richie planted a kiss on her ass and complied, pushing his pinky in alongside the others. He could feel her juices flowing now, making his movements in her easier. Jenna rocked back harder onto Richie’s hand, her moans of frustration making Richie smile.

“What’s the matter, my love?” he said, lightly biting her ass.

“It’s not enough,” she answered on a whine.

Richie withdrew and turned Jenna onto her back. She reached for his iron-hard shaft, but Richie gently pushed her hand away and kissed her deeply. “Uh-uh, baby, I’m not done with you yet,” he growled, and Jenna purred.

Richie slid his fingers in again – all of them – and slowly stroked in and out of Jenna, until she was begging him for release. Jenna could feel him filling and stretching her, and still it wasn’t enough. The swipe of his thumb over her clit as he pumped her wasn’t enough. Richie bent his head to pull her nipple into his teeth and bit lightly, then he sucked it deep into his mouth. Jenna cried out and arched her back, but she wasn’t there yet. Richie knew she was so close to the edge she could taste it, and he loved it when he could leave her on the precipice like that. Jenna loved it too.

Now, though, he was almost painfully hard, and wanted to throw her over the edge so he could bury himself in her. He picked up the pace, moving faster in her, and was rewarded with a long, loud moan. “Oh, Go-o-o-o-od, Ri-i-i-i-ichie-e-e-e,” she sighed, thrashing her head back and forth on the pillow. Her hips were rising to meet his hand thrust for thrust. He smiled around the nipple he was sucking, and twisted his hand, turning his fingers inside her.

Jenna screamed and gripped the sheets, pulling them so hard they pulled loose from the bed. “YES!” she screamed. “THAT!” So Richie did it again. He slowly rotated his wrist and watched Jenna’s face. Her eyes flew open and her unfocused gaze rested on Richie, and he could see her pupils nearly fully dilated, making her hazel eyes black with passion.

“Stay with me, baby,” Richie whispered, licking at Jenna’s lips, and continuing the tortuous twisting motion. Jenna tried to focus on Riche, but couldn’t. Her unseeing eyes met his, and Richie smiled. “Stay with me or I’ll stop.”

“NO!” she called, and struggled to focus on Richie’s face. Slowly, he saw her coming back to him, and he smiled. She knew damned well he wouldn’t stop, but she loved this game as much as he did, and played it well. He kissed her deeply, his tongue matching the motions of his hand; swirling around her mouth and lapping up her moans and sighs.

Richie felt Jenna’s walls squeezing him so hard she nearly squeezed him out. Her breathing stopped for just a moment, and Richie smiled. A split second later, her guttural groan filled the room as she shattered into a million pieces and her walls pulsed around him. He didn’t stop, though, wanting her to be completely spent before he brought her up again.

Jenna’s cries of pleasure were music to Richie’s ears. He bent to capture her nipple again, and teased her until she begged him to stop. Richie smiled, and with a final long pull, stilled his mouth. His hand was still pumping into her gently, waiting for her to come back together. She started moaning again, and her hips moved against him, and he slid from her. Jenna arched when he pulled slowly from her body; her muscles already clenching back up.

Richie positioned himself between her legs, and lifted them to his shoulders and held her ankles. When Richie slid his cock into her, he groaned. She had tightened so much, it felt like he was pushing through her fist, and he loved it. When he was fully seated in her, he slid out almost all the way, and slammed home, making Jenna jump. She gripped the sheets again, then planted her hands on either side of her hips and rose her pelvis to meet Richie’s thrusts, grunting each time he slid into the hilt.

“Richie,” she begged, “please.”

“Please what, darlin’,” he drawled, as the exertion of holding back was nearly killing him.

“Please!” she begged again, her voice a plaintive cry. “Come with me,” she cried.

“Anything for you,” Richie said, and bent Jenna’s legs so her knees touched her shoulders, and pummeled her for all he was worth. Jenna’s eyes went wide, and Richie felt her squeeze him painfully tight and he exploded inside her, calling her name as she took all he had to give. He collapsed next to her, and drew her in close, kissing her thoroughly before settling her in by his side.

“Welcome, home, my love,” Jenna whispered, looking up at him as she snuggled up to him threw an arm around him. One slim toned leg slid over his to hook around his calf, and she sighed.

“Thank you, baby,” Richie said, and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad to be home.”

Jenna smiled and kissed Richie’s chest, lay her head over his heart, and closed her eyes.

So glad.