Decadence (5 page)

Ain’t none of
your friends’ business Ain’t none of your friends’ business how we
get down tonight…

Ginuwine’s singing mixed with her
pleading.

I was willing to oblige her.

I slid my index finger inside her. She gasped
as if I’d just put a dick or a dildo inside her. She held onto my
shoulders as if I’d already started fucking her.

Tight. She was so tight. Felt her walls
undulating with the grip they had around my forefinger. I eased
that finger in and out. Her face held the look of anguish, but I
knew what that kind of anguish meant. No way I was going to stop,
and there was no doubt that she didn’t want me to.

I put my middle finger in alongside the
index. Stretched that little hole some more. Felt those walls
enclose around my two fingers, felt them moving to the beat of
their own drummer.

So wet. So tight. Tighter than any of the
girls we’d been with. I wondered how long our little minx had been
active. Couldn’t have been long. She was so fucking tight.

Chris was definitely going to enjoy this.

I pushed those two fingers inside her deeper.
She moaned, groaned, sounded like she was near crying, but it was
the kind of cry that I didn’t mind hearing, that I knew meant that
what she was feeling was almost too good. Went in deeper and felt
that little suction she had. Felt the layout of her honey pot. Felt
that wondrous soft wet tight little cave that straight men craved
to fuck, craved to slam until they came, craved to bury their
shafts in until they blew their loads. Inside her.

My fingers were in a place where I knew so
many men had wanted to invade before I had. I was feeling what
they’d wanted to feel. I was in a special place that I knew not
many had been invited before.

I kissed her again. Hope she got that it
wasn’t just lust I was kissing her for, but gratitude. I was
grateful for the invitation. And with the amount of juices she was
producing, she was grateful for my appearance.

“Harder,” she said the word to me in her
sweet voice, but that word had come out forcefully.

She was wet. She needed to be fucked. She
needed to cum.

I stopped playing nice. I stopped acting like
the place where I was stroking was delicate just because of the way
her face looked. The little hole I was working with my fingers
stretched and accommodated for a reason; she was pleading with me
to go harder for a reason. She could take it.

I stopped going slow. Sped up the pace. Moved
my fingers in and out so fast I could hear her juices lapping up in
my hand. My hands were soaking. Her wetness was covering my palm as
if I’d dipped it in some kind of liquid and had held it there.

Ginuwine finished up his song and gave way to
Kelly Rowland. Her lyrics were all about motivation. Motivation,
stimulation, reciprocation. That was the world of rules we were
abiding by in the back of a sleek black almost brand new BMW that
belonged to none of us, but was ours all the same. Possession is
nine tenths of the law, after all.

That made Candice mine. Or maybe I was hers
since her tight little kitty cat was owning my fingers, those soft
strong walls enclosed around two of my digits, pulling me in deeper
one second, trying to push me out the next.

Frustrating, stimulating, intoxicating.

That’s what sex is. That’s what passion is.
That’s what we were all about.

I went in as deep as I could. Put another
finger insider her, a third one. Felt her struggle to make room for
me, felt her little hole get bigger, but barely.

Candice had her back against the backseat,
her head thrown back, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, her
mouth open as she screamed and breathed heavily and moaned a
beautiful song of ecstasy as her twin tits bounced, as my thrusts
became harder, went deeper, as I pushed those three of my fingers
inside her up to my knuckles over and over again.

I could feel how serious my face was as I
worked her. Her top was still on her even though it had been pulled
down and then slid the rest of the way to her mid section. Those
tits of hers. They were bouncing. I wanted to suck them again. I
wanted them in my mouth. So fat and juicy, they were.

Her legs were spread across the seat as I
fucked her with my fingers even harder than Chris had finger fucked
me not too long ago in the private parking garage right outside of
Oasis.

Then she started riding my fingers as if my
hand were a cock.

She needed to be punished for it, and I was a
punisher. She had no idea.

Didn’t matter if it seemed her little sweet
spot had just barely taken three of my fingers. I took those out,
curled them all around one another, added my pinky finger to the
mix and went back inside of her. I was nearly fisting her, though
the fingers inside of her could barely fit. She stopped slamming
against me then, begged for mercy. I was in a merciful mood.

I went back to two fingers and started
stroking her fast, but not as vicious as before. She would see how
vicious I could be later. All in due time.

Dip it low,
bring it up slow, move it all around…

Christina Milian had taken over the car, her
voice over a beat filled with bass and East Asian influence trying
to tell us what we should do, but I wasn’t about to take all of her
advice. I wasn’t going to take it slow. Candice would’ve gone nuts
if I decided to take it slow at this point.

I found her g-spot; the same way Chris had
found mine earlier. I wanted her to cum the same way I’d cum.
Wanted her to feel the same way I’d felt.

I went to work.

I found that spot and stayed on it. I rubbed
that extra smooth part of her at the top of the inside of her
sweetness as she gripped my wrist with one hand and pulled at her
own hair with her other. She looked sexy losing her mind. She
looked hot as she neared her orgasm. No ugly faces over here, just
beautiful faces contorted in pleasure, begging for
satisfaction.

“What…are…you…doing…to…me?” She could barely
say the words.

“You want me to stop?” I asked her, and
slowed down, but only a bit, just enough to tease her, send her
into a panic.

“If you stop I’ll kill you.” I only
laughed.

Ooooooooooo I
can’t wait to get next to you. Ohhhhhhhh I just can’t leave you
alone…

Seven was killing it on that bass as Ashanti
sang her heart out. That beat was sick. Ashanti’s lyrics
complemented it well. I’d always liked that song. It was perfect
for what I was doing. It was the perfect rhythm to go with how I
was handling Candice.

Boy you got me
doing things that I would never do…

I already know that by the time I release my
fingers from the chokehold they were in at the moment, they’re
going to be wrinkled as if I’d done a few laps in a pool. Our Candi
girl is drenched. If I’d had my mouth anywhere down there it
probably would’ve gotten filled.

No time for slow jams. I needed what was
playing. I needed that hard hitting tune that made you sit up, made
your ears perk.

I was killing her kitty cat.

Then I felt it as her breathing sped up. I
felt those walls start moving like they never had before.

She screamed. That already tight part of her
tightened further. Tightened and hugged my fingers. No, not hugged,
started doing their little dance around my fingers. I felt some
more of her juices rain down over my hand.

I felt her cum. Felt her cum all over my
hand. Saw how good what I’d just done to her had felt. Even if she
was never mine again, she’d been mine right then.

I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her, but
I peered up and looked in Chris’s direction.

I hadn’t even realized when we’d gotten to
the condo. I hadn’t realized he’d parked. I hadn’t realized how
captivated he’d been by what we were doing until then.

We were all exchanging looks at one another,
and for the first time, I couldn’t read Chris. I wasn’t the only
one in new territory apparently.

Candice had fallen to the side of the
backseat. She’d just cum. Was spent. Looked tired and gorgeous. She
was practically naked. Her legs still open, the outside of her
sweet spot glistening.

I leaned down. Kissed her sweet face. Then I
said with a smile on my face, “Don’t even think I’m through with
you yet.”

***

Candice slipped her underwear and clothes
back on and the three of us made our way upstairs. Chris made his
way beside Candice and she ended up between us.

I held hands with her. Kissed her, gave her
quick pecks every now and again, as Chris struck up some small
talk.

It all went back to the rules, and there were
four main ones: 1) Keep the questions to a minimum; 2) Make her
feel comfortable (ease into anything intimate/sexual); 3) Foreplay
over Fucking; Passion over the Pursuit of Orgasm; 4) Go with the
flow.

What happened in the back of the BMW had
never happened before. It had always been kissing, at the most, a
little touching here and there, but the ride back to the condo had
always been reserved for light conversation. Keep the questions to
a minimum and let her talk. If you ask her about herself, keep it
on the surface, don’t get too invasive, lest you get the
invasiveness turned around on you, and trust me, you don’t want
that.

A secondary rule under the first was to
compliment her, but don’t be corny or creepy with whatever you
say.

I mentally assessed what we knew about
Candice besides the name she’d give us. She was actually five feet
two inches tall; I’d asked her as I helped her put her clothes back
on in the car. She’d kept her heels on the entire time and they
were a pair of cute four inch heels she told me she got from Petit
Peton. I wondered if they were actually hers or if she was
borrowing them from a friend or a sister. Either way, the fact that
she had chosen to wear them told me she had good taste.

The perfume she wore that I couldn’t seem to
get enough of on her was a brand by Clinique, one she’d been
wearing for years.

What else could I say besides her kisses
tasted of strawberries and she smelled like a June sunset ought to
smell when the day hadn’t gotten too hot? She had a hood piercing,
that’s what I could add to the list. I’d felt that little ball in
the back of the Beemer. She had a little freak in her, but I
could’ve told anyone that, piercing or not.

Also, there were a couple of tats on her hip
that dipped down more into her pelvic area. Chinese characters were
what she’d had inked on her body, symbols for virtues: Love, hope,
and peace. Plenty of people had Chinese characters tatted on their
skin and had no idea what they meant or how to read Chinese
characters at all before they got to the tattoo parlor, but if she
did know what she’d put on her body she sounded like an optimist,
someone who saw the glass half full, who was seeing the world as a
place with endless possibilities, a person whose dreams hadn’t been
completely killed off yet.

An optimist’s outlook suited what I’d seen
from her so far: Constantly smiling, wearing bright happy colors,
had a good attitude.

Rule number one was about being observant,
getting to know your prey, feeling out the object of your
desire.

Then there was the third secondary rule under
the first one: Talk to her like a friend, not a conquest or a
potential notch on your bedpost. If you talked to her like a common
whore on the way to your place, I can guarantee you she’ll be
regretting meeting you before you two ever reach the front door of
your destination. If she’s uncomfortable, her mind isn’t going to
be as open; she’s not going to be one hundred percent willing to go
on that journey of exacting maximum pleasure and trying any and
everything with you.

The whole idea is to get her comfortable and
keep her that way, which is what rule number two is all about,
which I’d already partially broken in the car. The secondary rules
under that one are the only thing saving me from having obliterated
one of our top rules: A) Cut the predatory stares and behavior and
be subtle and seductive; B) Get her in the mood.

Maybe what happened in the backseat of the
car wasn’t supposed to have happened the way it had, but I didn’t
regret it. I could still smell her on me and it was a nice scent,
one I wouldn’t be too quick to wash away.

As far as rule number three goes, Chris and I
have our own version of foreplay that didn’t exactly entail
romance, but foreplay is foreplay and you adjust it to yourself and
your partner(s).

Foreplay is about mental stimulation more so
than physical stimulation. That hadn’t been foreplay in the back of
the Beemer that had merely been a preview.

The only secondary rule under number three
were words to live by, a statement that I knew to be true: Most
women have a Girls Gone Wild side to them; it’s just up to their
partner(s) to help them release it.

That was a huge part of the problem with a
lot of people in committed relationships with lousy sex lives. They
got comfortable with each other and stopped trying to impress one
another in bed. They got vanilla and no longer cared about the
other spices since they’d snagged the big prize--the ring, the
wedding, the house, the title. They got boring.

Then again, not everyone had high sex drives
to begin with and you couldn’t fault anyone for that. A lot of
people played at being vixens and sexual dynamos, but really sex
was just an act to them, not an experience. Sex wasn’t a feast of
flavors to be enjoyed for them, but just something to do every now
and again when they found themselves horny. They came and they were
happy.

If all I needed was to cum I would’ve been
satisfied with what Chris had given me earlier at Oasis.

I needed more.

You couldn’t expect me to be happy and
satisfied if you gave me water when what I really wanted was
chocolate.